


^ 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap.'^-^^cSpyrigM Ho 

Shelf... l-ii^f^^ 
m^— 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



r 



OjST 
THE 



BY 

S. C. KIRK 



1900 
A. H. SrcKLER <fe Co. 

FlITL A nELPHI A 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 

Library of Ceisged*^ 
Offloe of tilt 

APR 2 1 1800 

Kegltfar of C«pyrtgktft 






61109 



COPYRIGHTED 1900 

BY 

8. C. KIRK 



SECOND COPYfl 



PRESS OF 

A. H. SICKLER & CO. 

514-516 LUDLOW STREET 

PHILADELPHIA 



\*5 o o. 



30ME of the poems contained in this volume having 
been so kindly received in the form in which they 
originally appeared, the author ventures to call the fugi- 
tive verses home, and to send them forth together in a 
new dress. Many of the poems, however, including 
"Barivah," appear in print for the first time. Conscious 
of having at least tried to sow a little seed by the way, 
the author submits his book to the public, sincerely hoping 
that his "Musings" may find a permanent place in the 
hearts of his readers. S. C. K. 

Philadelphia. 



COISTTEI^TS 



PART I 

PAGE 

Barivah 13 

PART II 

A Heart Thought 49 

On the Shore 50 

Belshazzar's Feast ... 52 

The Beauty of the Lord 54 

A Common Creed 56 

I Live It All Over Again ... 58 

Stranded .... 62 

The Valley of Believing 64 

Thou Didst Think of Me 65 

Do It Now 67 

The Harvester of Days 68 

Forward in His Name 71 

She Hath Done What She Could 73 

At the Forks 74 

Chautauqua Hymn 77 

The King of the Ivory Palace 78 

All Along the Way 79 

Thanksgiving Hymn 80 

Triune Prayer 82 

5 



6 Contents 



PAGE 

Mae 8^ 

Man Was Not Made to Mourn 84 

When Far Astray 87 

The Children's Jubilee 88 

Forbearance 89 

True Wisdom 91 

O, Let Its Soft Billows Roll In 92 

Through the Valley of Baca 93 

It Has Gone 95 

The Missionary Pioneer 96 

Joy Up There 99 

The Sky 100 

God's Chosen Land 103 

When Thou Passest Through the Waters 105 

"I'm Glad I Came to Jesus" 107 

Welcome to a Pastor 109 

What Shall You Answer Him? no 

A Welcome 11 1 

On the Sidin' 112 

The Vanished Hand ..118 

An Aspiration 121 

Forget It 122 

The Christ Appears 124 

The Star of the East 126 

Jesus for All 127 

The Wondrous Song 129 

The Magi's Gifts . 131 



Contents 7 

PAGE 

Easter Morn 133 

To a Youth 135 

Epigram 135 

One Thought 135 

Last Leaf of My Diary J36 

PART III 

Golden Bells ' 139 

Under the Linden 148 

Elnathan's Wooing 157 

PART IV 

The Ruling Passions 171 

The Tide to Fortune 177 

To the Snow-Flakes 179 

Criticism 180 

Temperance Song 182 

Only a Smile ,_ 184 

Lines to S. H. H .185 

New Year's Eve 187 

Boys' Holiday Song 189 

To Corinne 191 

My Childhood Home 192 

The World Would Profit By It 195 

To Amabel 197 

Over At Last 198 

The Old and the New 200 



8 Contents 



PAGE 

A Voice from the Urn 203 

The Money King 205 

The King and the Saint ■ 207 

Lines to Ina 211 

India's Cry for Bread 214 

Never in "Now" 215 

Harold's First Year .216 

Memorial Day 217 

What Makes a Scot? 220 

On the Advent of a Little Boy 222 

A Lament 223 

A Truth Half Told 225 

The Bachelor's Broken Vow 226 

The Rum Crusade 228 

A Birthday Wish 230 

To Lizzie 231 

On a Short Acquaintance 231 

A Valentine 232 

A Lost Day 232 

Fret To-morrow 233 

Epitaph — John D. Williams 233 

Burns 234 

Charade 235 

Prefer To Be Right 235 

Invocation 236 



PARTS 



I. Bar IV AH 

II. Upward Thoughts 

III. 'WEDDiTvrG Bells 

I^'. IVIlSCELLANEOTJS 



PART I 



BiVRIV^s^H 




THOU HAST VISITED ME IN THE NIGHT— Ps. 




i, 3 



( HAD a dream which was not all a dream ;" 
I was not on the earth, nor did it seem 
That yet my earthly labors were complete, 
For heavy on my heart I felt the weight 
Of tasks, though long begun, as yet undone ; 
For flesh is weak, and weary hands weigh down 
The wings of Faith that try to mount the skies. 
And to our hearts' requests bring down replies. 



For twenty years or more I preached the Word 
And told the power of a risen Lord ; 
In weakness oft the word had been declared 
And oft in judgment, doubtless, I had erred. 
And yet, as now I retrospect those years, 
I say, and speak as in the Master's ears. 
That never from the day he bade me go 
And preach a free salvation, until now, 

13 



14 /iRusluQS on tbc Maig 

Have I forgot my ordination vow ; 

Alas ! I thought, in all those years, 

What little fruit, though I have sown in tears ! 

Last night, with aching heart and throbbing brain 
I pleaded with the sinner, but in vain ; 
And when I left the sanctuary's door 
I said : '^O God, how can I serve Thee more ? 
I've gone forth weeping and returned again. 
But in my hand brought not one sheaf of grain : 
My heart is sick, O Lord, and well nigh broke. 
And now, from out the depths, do I invoke 
Thine ear ; if Thou dost really own my poor 
Unfruitful work, seal Thou, O God, this hour. 
My holy warrant with Thy Spirit's power. 
If, as a tiller of the Master's ground, 
I've scattered aught but Gospel seed around. 
Or, as a watch upon the walls of Zion, 
I've given forth uncertain sounds or sign, 
Make me, O Lord, to know mine error now. 
That I resign to other hands the plow ; 
So that when Thou the Master of the field. 
Shall come inquiring for the harvest's yield. 
Thou mayst rejoice to find Thy garners filled. 



/ftusinfls on tbc iraia^ 15 

Thou knowst my heart, O God, and tliou dost know 
That Avhereso'er Thou sendest I shall go, 
Content to be where Thou canst use my all, 
Though but an armor bearer to a Saul. 
But now my soul is sick, my heart is weak, 
And I shall die unless Thou deign to speak." 
And Avith this prayer I lay me down and sought 
A respite from the weariness of thought. 

When almost overburdened with the strain, 
'Tis strange how sleep eludes the tired brain ; 
We linger as on a chaotic brink — 
'Tis hard to think and harder not to think ; 
And yet, sometimes, as though an angel blest 
Was keeping vigil o'er a soul distressed, 
The weary brain is gently, sweetly fanned 
Into the quiet shades of slumberland. 

And thus it was that I had scarcely pressed 
My aching brow upon its downy rest, 
Than I had passed behind the shadowy screen 
AVhere Sense is lost and Fantasy reigns queen. 

What is the Keal, and what its boundary line, 
No one as yet has ventured to define ; 



16 /IRu0ing9 on tbe Wisi^ 

What sense cannot discern, nor law explain, 

We simply call a fancy of the brain ; 

Yet in that realm so often laughed to scorn 

The fate of men and nations has been born. 

But mark you well ! I would not think it wise, 

To nestle every wayward bird that flies ; 

Nor would I slight with a disdainful ear 

Each airy wing that flits through Dreamland's sphere, 

Lest unawares sometime I let go by 

A silent message-bearer from the sky ; 

And that is why I venture now to write 

And ask you read this vision of the night. 

Weary, as I have said, I sought 

A respite from the cares of thought. 

Scarce had the veil of Sense been drawn. 

Than light within began to dawn. 

I saw the King of Day arise 

And tint with gold the eastern skies ; 

And as he mounted high, and higher. 

He left behind a path of fire ; 

I saw him touch the western hill. 

The path of fire descending still. 

And when he passed beyond my eye 



/nbusings on tbc "UDla^ 17 

The burning trail had spanned the sky. 
I watched to see the band of light 
Dissolve into the shades of night ; 
But, lo ! instead, the belt became 
A wider, deeper, brighter flame ! 
'Twas night, if set of sun means night ; 
'Twas lustrous day, if day means light — 
For never was a day more bright. 

Transfixed in awe, yet not with fright, 
I looked and wondered at the sight ; 
And as I looked, with will nor power 
To break the silence of the hour, 
I saw arise before my sight 
Four walls of stone of marble white. 
The quiet air was not disturbed 
By voice of man, or beast, or bird, 
As stone on stone, ascending space. 
In silence took its ordered place. 
Till rising high, and high, and higher, 
I saw it capped by dome and spire. 
Instinctively my head was bowed. 
My knees upon the dewy sod ; 
For lo ! there stood, within a rod, 
A temjole of the living God ! 



18 /FRusings on tbe Ma^ 

While thus in solemn thought I knelt, 
A hand upon my head I felt ; 
I did not move ; the very air 
Seemed stilled in reverential prayer ; 
And then a feeling o'er me stole 
That had not yet possessed my soul ; 
A sense of dread — a solemn fear 
As of some awful presence near. 

If chosen, holy men of old 
Dared not the living God behold, 
Nor dared on hallowed ground to put 
The mark of a presumptive foot ; 
If HE in his offended wrath 
Would send an angel on his path 
To smite with a devouring breath 
Full fifty thousand souls in death, 
Because the holy things concealed 
Within the ark had been unveiled 
And to an impious eye revealed ; 
Or, if a thoughtless touch called forth 
Jehovah's quick consuming wrath. 
Oh, why should man like I presume 
That mine be not an Uzzah's doom ! 



/iRusinas on tbc llda^ 19 

" 'Tis well," a voice above me said, 
The hand no longer on my head ; 
" Thou doest well to veil thy face 
In reverence in this hallowed place ; 
But wherefore should thy heart be here 
Constrained to reverential fear ? 
Are not God's temples everywhere 
The shrine of worship and of prayer ? 
How vain, if God fill not the place, 
We enter there to seek His face ! 
But if the Holy Presence deign 
Within an earthly court to reign, 
What vain presumption ! Man to dare 
In levity to enter there ! 

' Thou shalt not take His name in vain ; ' 
Is't less His temj)le to profane — 
The place where hungry souls are fed 
By Christ himself with living Bread ; 
Where men receive the eucharist, 
And little ones are held for Christ ; 
Where weeping sinners cry to heaven, 
Or praise their God for sins forgiven ; 
Where hearts in wedded love unite 



20 /iftusiriQs on tbe Ma^ 

And heaven records the solemn plight, 

And where the last sad rites are said 

Ere ye entomb your coffined dead? — 

When carnal things His Courts debase, 

Shall not Jehovah hide his face? 

Behold the open Temple door ! 

Pass thou within, woulds't thou know more." 

The name, nor whence the voice that spoke, 

I did not know nor dared invoke ; 

If corporal form, it quick had flown. 

For when I looked I stood alone. 

But whether form or shade I heard, 

I felt the sting of every word. 

There is in every life an hour 

When, like a flood, some outward power 

Sweeps through the soul's intensest part. 

Subdues the will and melts the heart ; 

And impotent to disobey, 

We bow submissive to its sway ; 

So now, the words had scarcely more 

Than fallen on my ear, before 

I stood within the Temple's door. 



/nbu6in0S on tbe laaa^ 21 

I've knelt in modest country pew 

And worshiped God among the few ; 

In grand cathedral I have bowed 

And paid my homage with the crowd. 

But ne'er was holy edifice 

So beautiful and grand as this. 

From outer hall or corridor 

There opened wide one spacious door. 

And many a worshiper about 

I saw pass by me in and out. 

And as they passed, " How strange," I said, 

" That men who carry hearts of lead 

Should move, with such a load of care, 

So slowly to the house of prayer. 

But run with busy feet along 

In haste to join the worldly throng! 

Thus day by day, more toil, more cares — 

Swift to the world and slow to prayers." 

I passed with musings of this sort 
Into the Temple's spacious court. 
Beneath the dome I stood amazed — 
Its grandeur awed, its vastness dazed ! 
From frescoed dome and stuccoed wall, 



22 /IBusings on tbc iKIlai? 

I saw great lights in splendor fall. 
Broad aisles, with costly carpets spread, 
From portal to the chancel led. 
Its pillared aisles on either side 
Were cut by transepts long and wide ; 
Within a vaulted, wide arcade. 
With richest garniture inlaid, 
On either side, a holy rood. 
The altar's sacred settings stood, 
Where, kneeling in his wonted place. 
The man of God, with up-turned face 
Petitioned loud the throne of grace. 
Surely, I thought, 'tis here men laud 
And magnify the name of God. 

When he had read the sacred Book 
And looked to heaven to invoke 
A blessing on the Bread he broke, 
I saw in pews of cushioned ease 
Some bended heads, some bended knees ; 
But more there were whose attitude 
Betrayed no reverential mood. 

But what avails the sup23liant limb 
Unless our souls are bowed to Him ? 



jflRusings on tbe Mag 23 

No Formalism's subtle art 
Can hide the treason of the heart. 
The great Jehovah may not brook 
Irreverence to His house or Book, 
But he who plays Religion's role, 
In which is neither heart nor soul, 
Deceives not God — it may be worse — 
It may return to him — a curse ! 

Devoutly in their songs and prayers 

I tried to join the worshijDers. 

But like a wounded lark which tries 

So hard to reach its native skies. 

My soul essayed in vain to rise. 

I saw, as 'twere, the prayers of men 

Ascend towards heaven and fall again ; 

I saw the smoke of incense rise 

And dissipate before my eyes — 

I heard the organ's mighty swell, 

And every note seemed like a knell ; 

I heard the choir in sweet accord 

Sing hallelujahs to the Lord ; 

But, as the waves that strike the coast 

Becede and are forever lost. 



24 /Iftusings on tbe Wa^ 

I thought the heart-waves of the song 
Moved for a while upon the throng, 
Then, ebbing, sought their native home 
And left behind but rhythmic foam. 

What weighted down these prayers of men 

As they essayed to reach the skies ? 
Why rolled the song-waves back again. 

And why did not the incense rise ? 
With heavy heart I queried thus, 

And sighed that there should be, alas ! 
Between the heavenly throne and us. 

This veil — this canopy of brass. 
Then came into my mind a thought 

'Tis almost sacrilege to write : 
Perhaps these worshipers have brought 

Their tithes to prove God's Truth and Might, 
And He has failed — has failed at last 

To keep his promises to men ! 
Then prayer is but a breath that's past — 

Past, never to return again. 

God fail ! in jot or tittle fail ? 

And if in part, why not in whole ? 



/llbusinss on tbe IKIlaij 25 

And if in whole ! Well may I quail 

When such a thought assails my soul ! 

God fail his promises to keep ? 

The seed forget to grow and bear ? 

The sun forever sink to sleep, 

And man return — to what and where ? 

My soul revolts ! It is not so ! 

It cannot be, it cannot be ! 
My every instinct whispers, No, 

God ever lives and cares for me. 
The rain still falls, the sun still shines, 

The flowers bloom, the fields still bear ; 
On every hand a thousand signs 

God's everlasting love declare. 

Oh, then, if God still clothes with green 

And bathes tlie fields with sun and shower ; 
If still the sparrow's fall is seen 

And every fading summer flower. 
Why should I fear, why am I led 

To doubt the Master when he said : 
Oh, how much more shall ye be fed 

Who trust Him for your daily bread ? 



26 /Iftusings on tbe Ma^ 

No : when I seek His grace and fail, 

It is not that His arm is slack, 
Nor that He wills to draw the veil 

And keep the asked-for blessing back. 
True prayer is like the air, which seeks. 

When pure, the mountain crest to girth, 
But when with fetid breath it reeks. 

It presses close to mother earth. 

The scene had so intensely wrought 
This trend of moralizing thought, 
I had not watched the moments fly. 
Nor seen the worshipers pass by ; 
Nor from my reverie did I wake 
Until a voice beside me spake : 
"Arise, make room ! this is no place 
For serious thoughts, nor solemn face." 
I quickly rose, and thought, " Who dare 
Speak thus within the house of prayer ! " 
I stood amazed ! I saw no sign 
Of priest, or worshiper, or shrine ! 
An hour had scarcely passed away 
Since I had seen men kneel to pray, 
And lo ! within that hour or two 



/Hbusin^js on tbe IHIla^ 27 

The temple had dissolved from view ! 
And in its place — what ! does my sight 
Delude, or do I hear aright ? 
Ah, how my heart had been relieved 
Had eye and ear been both deceived ! 

I stood in spacious hall among 

A merry crowd of old and young. 

The scene was bright with Fashion's glare 

In which a thousand aids had share ; 

For Art had sought, with wondrous grace, 

To gloss the charms of form and face, 

While many a jet of crystal light 

Shone down upon the wanton sight ; 

And as the revelry advanced, 

Above the merry crowd there glanced, 

In burnished letters from the wall : 

" The Social Club's Imperial Ball ! " 

As now the gaieties advance. 
And the wild music of the dance 
Rolls its voluptuous notes along, 
I mark the faces of the throng. 
Do I mistake ? for I confess 



28 /Iftuein^s on tbe IMa^ 

That mid the blandishments of dress, 
And all the glamour of the place, 
Identity is hard to trace ; 
But I am sure that through the maze 
Familiar faces meet my gaze. 

Ah, now, it all comes back to me — 

The Temple, song and reverie ! 

Yes, these were they who bended low 

With me in prayer an hour ago, 

Beseeching God to bless and cure 

Their sin-sick souls and make them pure ; 

'Twas they who sang : " Thy kingdom come, 

And let thy righteous will be done 

In all the earth. Purge Thou my heart 

From worldly dross, and let me start 

This day to live the better part." 

'Twas they who prayed an hour ago : 

" Lord, teach me now mine end to know." 

How can it be ? Can thoughts like these 
Engage a soul upon its knees, 
One day, then worldly passions reign 
Till Sabbath-day returns again ? 



/IRuslnas on tbe llClai^ 29 

The mother bird had ne'er caressed 
The little brood within her nest, 
Had she been more disposed to roam 
Than warm the little eggs at home ; 
The clouds that gambol in the sky 
With every wind, are mostly dry. 

Between the rocks on mountain side 
A little stream was seen to glide ; 
With good intent it hastened down 
To bless some thirsty vale or town. 
Attracted by the marsh below 
It stopped awhile and said : ''I trow 
'Tis just as near by yonder fen 
As winding round the mountain glen ; " 
So saying, through the wide morass 
The little brooklet sought to pass ; 
Alas ! all failed that ever tried — 
The marsh lived on, the streamlet died. 

So, also, many a thought is born 
Pure as the lily of the morn. 
But touched by some vile, carnal blight 
It withers in a single night ; 



30 /nbusings on tbe Mas 

Or often, idly brushed away, 
It dies of slow, but sure decay. 
Sometimes the world, its vain pursuits 
And fond delights, pluck up its roots ; 
But whether scorned or crushed, it lies. 
It matters not — the good thought dies. 
What hopes die with it, who can say ? 
But this I know ; some future day, 
When most of life behind us lie§. 
These ghosts of murdered hopes will rise ; 
Nor will they be by death entombed ; 
In the dark regions of the doomed. 
The ghosts of smothered thoughts will haunt 
And phantom hopes forever taunt — 
'Twill be the worm that never dies. 
The deep, unbridged abyss of sighs ! 

I looked upon the scene and sighed ! 
How hard to row against the tide ! 
How vain to sow when birds of prey 
Like this are waiting night and day 
To snatch the precious seed away ! 

O, could we weigh a life and know 
The worth of moments here below ! 



/Hbusin^s on tbe lima^ 31 

We S23eak of trifles slightingly, 
But in the world's economy 
The mighty volume of the sea 
Receives no more the care of God 
Than does the dewdrop on the sod. 
There are no trifles ; one false move 
Upon the board of life, may prove 
The turn that shapes a destiny 
For time and for eternity. 

If life is then so real a thing 
That every wheel and subtle spring 
Is so exact and finely wrought 
That fate may turn npon a thought, 
How dare I risk, O God, to i^lay 
With empty bawbles on the way ! 

In tears, and toils, and pain and loss. 
Brave men and women bear their cross ; 
From early morn till set of sun 
Some hands must toil, some feet must run. 
To ease the want and share the load 
Of some poor pilgrim on the road. 
And yet, while close on every side 



32 /lRu6in99 on tbe "Mais 

The door for work stands open wide, 
Some Christian souls find time to play 
And dance the golden hours away ! 
If " Satan trembles when he sees 
The weakest saint upon his knees," 
With what a grim, sardonic bliss 
Must he behold a scene like this ! 
When Satan smiles at what I do. 
That thing shall I at once eschew. 
And when in doubt if God approves, 
I'll wait till God the doubt removes. 

I stepped aside, for o'er my soul 

A feeling of revulsion stole. 

I scarce had turned, when suddenly 

The music ceased its revelry. 

As I had seen the temple fade, 

The dance-house rising from its shade, 

So now in turn the latter, too. 

Began to slowly sink from view ; 

A moment more, and hall, and glare 

Had vanished as it were in air. 



But when I thought the vision gone, 
Behold, I saw another dawn ! 



/iBusings on tbc inaa^ 33 

And ere I could evolve a thought 
My ear the strains of music caught ; 
I sought the source — a curtain rose ! 
And then amid a wild applause 
That through the auditory ran, 
The " Carnival of Life " bes^an ! 

No wonder that in mute surprise 
I stood, afraid to trust my eyes, 
Though not to me could thunder's peal 
Or lightning's flash have been more real ; 
And then at once my heart replies : 
Why should such change excite surprise, 
Since there is but a span, they say. 
Between the dance-room and the play ? 

The play went on. The same wind blew 
Both good and bad, both false and true ; 
But what with all that studied j)hrase 
And scenic art could do to glaze 
The faults and vices of mankind. 
Why wonder that the doubting mind 
Should look and fail to apprehend 
Where vice begins and foibles end. 



34 /IRusinQS on tbe "Mai? 



For whether sin be real or 23layed, 
Its touch pollutes, its sights degrade, 
Till slowly, in its wily role. 
It steals into the artless soul, 
A monster, whose familiar face. 
The poet sang, we first give place. 
And then we pity, then embrace. 

I count not that young soul secure 
Whose ear can hear, whose eye endure 
A word unchaste, a sight impure ; 
Who in ungodly counsels go 
Do not in Christian graces grow ; 
Who walketh in the sinner's way 
Have seldom time to watch and pray ; 
Who sitteth in the scorner's seat 
Must share also his drink and meat ; 
And souls that breathe a noxious air, 
Or feed on tainted, carnal fare. 
Must grow defiled in every part — 
In texture of the mind and heart. 
And knowing this unerring law, 
My heart was grieved at what I saw ; 
The samiC who went from prayer and song 



/iRusin^is on tbe Mai2 35 

In haste to join the dancing throng, 
Were here among the plauding crowd 
I thought the loudest of the loud ; 
Though here and there I saw a face 
On which I thought that I could trace 
The struggle of a soul within 
Between its conscience and its sin : 
Ah ! need I ask, how long therein 
The fight will last, and which will win ? 

The curtain dropped — the scene was gone, 
And once again I stood alone. 
In swift succeeding rays of light 
Each leaves its impress on the sight ; 
And e'en in Dreamland's weird domain 
It worked confusion of my brain ; 
Awhile I stood with hands unclasped, 
With soul as well as head downcast, 
And in the passing moments sought 
To gather up the strands of thought. 

" Why wonderest thou ? Why art thou stirred 
At things which thou hast seen and heard ? " 



36 ^u6inQ0 on tbe TlXHa^ 

Though neither tread, nor touch, nor eye 

Revealed a living presence nigh, 

I started back ! that voice and tone 

Was surely other than my own ! 

And then, as ceased the voice, there came 

The same strange feeling through my frame — 

The same mysterious hand I felt 

Upon my head as when I knelt 

In solemn silence on the sod, 

As in the presence of my God. 

" IVe heard thy words," the voice resumed, 
'' When thou hast with thyself communed ; 
And e'en thy secret thoughts concealed 
From others, are to me revealed ; 
That thou shouldst mourn the insincere 
And empty words that pass for prayer ; 
The easy conscience that can bend 
To right or left to suit the end ; 
The ear that can attune its chord 
To songs of Satan or the Lord ; 
The eye that with the same delight 
Can look to Pisgah's lofty height 
Or down upon the moral slough 



/Rbusin^ts on tbc Ma^ 37 

That reeks with virus through and through ; 

The heart that can aspire to God 

Or grovel with the sensual clod — 

That thou shouldst weep, indeed, with me, 

Such hollow vanity to see, 

I wonder not ; but O. if thou 

Must turn from such inconstant vow. 

How must a loving Father grieve 

Such heartless service to receive ? 

What thou hast seen has moved thy soul. 

And yet thou hast not seen the whole ; 

Were I again the veil to part 

More poignant still would be the dart. 

The crowd with whom thou knelt to pray 
Thou sawest next at dance and play ; 
The curtain droj)ped. Behind the screen 
Thou didst not see the shifting scene. 
But carest thou to follow hence ? 
Behold, in thought, if not in sense : 
To-morrow e'en, ere scarce will fall 
Upon the earth night's sable pall. 
In yonder home, where once the Word 
Was read, and song and prayer were heard, 



38 /iftusings on tbe l^a^ 

^^ Society " in gay soiree 

Will meet to while the hours away. 

" 'Tis but a little thing," they say ; 

" Too small to lead a soul astray — 

A harmless pastime that they call 

'Progressive Euchre ' — that is all. 

But he who handles Satan's tools 

Is judged by every moral rule 

To be a craftsman of his school ; 

Who dallies on the border land 

Will soon within the confines stand. 

A spot upon the polished steel 

Was thought too small to heed, until. 

Too late to check, a gnawing rust 

Had doomed it to its native dust ; 

Dead coals, 'tis wise to early learn. 

Will blacken though they may not burn. 

On ballroom soil has never grown 

A fruit or seed that God would own. 

Before the footlights, I may say. 

However grand or pure the play, 

No one has ever stayed to pray ; 

Nor o'er the cards have men ere caught 

A good resolve or noble thought. 



/IRu6in06 on tbe IllHas 39 

But, hearken, more! The soil that bears 
Not golden grain, produces tares ! 

'Tis but a little thing ! But think ! 
That little thing may be the brink ; 
There's but a narrow line between 
The pathway and the deep ravine. 
Along that narrow space, alas, 
How many Christians choose to pass ! 
All trusting to the slender reed 
Of Church relationship and creed. 

Ask not, why is the preached word. 

By sinners read, by sinners heard, 

And yet the heart be scarcely stirred : 

The world, betw^een its own and thine, 

Expects a sharp dividing line ; 

But when it sees their ways converge. 

Their colors blend, their pleasures merge, 

How hard to lead a soul above 

The plane on which the churches move ! 

That thou hast raised thy voice and cried 
Against the fast encroaching tide, 



40 /iftusiTiQS on tbc lailaig 

Thou hast done well — thine hands are clean, 

And though thou mightest not have seen, 

As thou didst think, the fruitage sought, 

Thy labor has not been for naught ; 

God sees the end, and in His plan 

He judges not nor counts as man : 

Who sows for time, and time alone. 

Oft dies before the fruit is grown. 

Who sows for an eternity. 

The full fruition shall not see 

Until the great Accounting Day, 

When He, the righteous Judge, shall weigh. 

By standard that ye know not of, 

Each thought, and word, and deed of love. 

With all its sequent good beside 

That through the years has multiplied. 

How well the Christian life is run. 
How much is lost, how much is won. 
Thou canst not measure here on lines 
Which e'en the Christian Church defines ; 
Success or failure here, may bear 
A different phase as viewed up there. 
The sower sows, and tills, and weeps 



/IBusinQS on tbc llDias 41 

Year in and out, but never reaps : 
He dies and other hands take hold, 
And lo ! they reap a hundred fold. 
Men see results and then applaud, 
And write Success ! Not so with God, 
Who spans all space and links the chain 
From him who thought he sowed in vain. 
To him who reaps the ripened grain. 

That years be long or short, O man. 

Canst not be gauged by finite span ; 

Beside a long Pauline career 

A Stephen's few short years appear. 

A mother trained her child for God, 

And then was laid beneath the sod. 

But millions now o'er all the earth 

Do honor to that mother's worth 

And bless the home that gave her birth ; 

So thine it is to do thy best 

And to the Master leave the rest. 

Thou sawst the sun sink out of sight 
And leave behind a band of light ; 
Thou sawst the Temple, stone by stone, 



42 /iRueiriQS on tbe Wa^ 

From base to spire arise alone ; 
As thou hast seen, like set of sun, 
God's chosen vessels, one by one. 
Pass to their rest, within thy breast 
Thou hast asked thyself if it were best ; 
I would, O man ! that thou shouldst know 
That God's eternal Truth shall glow, 
Till like a band of living light 
It turns to day the whole world's night, 
Despite what thou hast seen and heard 
And which has so thy spirit stirred. 
And as the workers, one by one. 
Retire with their day's work done. 
The morrow's sun shall find in lieu, 
New hands, as strong, as brave, as true. 
And hearken ! he works best who leaves 
With God the counting of the sheaves ! " 

And then as the last word was said 
The hand was lifted from my head. 
Though still I felt the presence near. 
The voice had so entranced my ear 
I felt my heart so strangely drawn 
That fain would I have listened on. 



/IRusitifls on tbe Ma^ 43 

Like them who stood on Hermon's Hill 
And sought that they might linger still. 

As yet my lips had ventured not 
To j)ut in words a single thought ; 
But now one wish possessed my heart, 
Which I would ask ere he depart ; 
But dare I, mortal man, and weak, 
Presume with spirit form to speak? 
My heart assented, bat, alas ! 
The woi'ds my lips refused to pass. 

'' I know the thing that thou wouldst seek — 

The thought thy quivering lips would speak ; 

Since thou wouldst know from whence I came 

Write now upon thy heart my name. 

With every word that I have said, 

For with this word I shall have fled 

And thenceforth be to thee as dead ; 

But wouldst thou bear me in thy mind 

As one that iovest human kind, 

Barivah thou shalt know me by — 

A message-bear 67' from the sky I " 



44 /iftusinQS on tbe Ma^ 

The light into my window broke, 
And I with trembling frame awoke. 

So real the vision of the night, 

I found my pillow wet with tears ; 
Each scene still lingered on my sight, 

The voice still ringing in my ears. 
And though the cloud that wrapped my soul — 

The bitter grief I felt and spoke 
And could not in my dreams control, — 

Was not dispelled when I awoke, 
Yet I was cheered ; I felt, somehow, 

That every laborer in the field, 
Though called to sow, or reap, or plow. 

Did something towards the harvest's yield. 

And still upon my heart the weight 

Of souls unsaved is just as great ; 

For, since I do not know how He 

Designs to own his work in me, 

'Tis mine to work as if the end 

Did on my single self depend ; 

" Thou reapest where thou hast not sown 

And gath'rest where thou hast not strown," 



/IRu6in0S on tbe lliaas 45 

Shall not excuse, condone, nor shield 
An idler in tlie Master's field. 

Men hold the distaffs ; God entwines 
The threads and weaves his own designs, 
'Tis true ; but yet one broken strand 
Retards that much the weaver's hand ; 
A little thing, can it be said, 
Therefore, to hold the Master's thread ? 
Xay, wait until the skeins are spun. 
The work complete, the weaving done, 
And God to universal man 
Unfolds his consummated plan ! 
'Twill be a joy well worth the tear 
And sigh that it has cost us here. 
If in the finished web is scanned 
Your little thread, my little strand. 



I* ART II 



UPW^i^^^RD THOUGHTS 



/Dbusinfls on tbe Wia^ 



49 



H Heart ^bougbt 

-g KAY, let me alone ; I have cares of my own ;" 
And passing he said with a sigh : 
" Who is given to sup from the chastening 
cup 
Should drink it alone, as do I ; 
I sing in its ear and the world will hear, 
But it sees not my heaving breast ; 
Each one has his share, I am told, to bear, 
And all are but mourners at best." 




We laugh, it is true, and the world laughs too ; 

But oh, do we sorrow alone ? 
I should weep to know such a thing were so 

In the light of the Gospel noon. 
There are hearts of oak that may bear the stroke 

And cover the wound it made ; 
But many will bleed like the tender reed 

At the o-ash of a wanton blade. 



Since all bear a load on this pilgrim road. 
Learn a truth that a sage has sown : 

Who aids in relief of a brother in grief 
But lightens the weight of his own. 



50 /Iftusings on tbe Mais 

Then brush not aside the poor heart that is tried ; 

It comes like a fluttering dove ; 
A word or a tear that you think little here 

Will wait you as jewels above. 



J- 



©n tbe Sbore 

I'M growing old — I feel it 

In the trembling of the limb ; 
The silver hairs reveal it, 

And my sight is growing dim, 
While the friends around remind me 

Of the dullness of my ear ; 
Though I hear it said behind me, 

" Grandpa is growing queer." 

Ah ! so deep the furrowed places 

Which the share of Time doth plow 

That it may have left its traces 

On the brain as well as brow ! 

But I know that still unfurrowed 
I have kept the better part ; 



/IRusinfls on tbe Ma^ 51 

For, though lines be on the forehead, 
There are none upon the heart. 

And, therefore, old and weary, 

I am not afraid to die, 
Though the shore seems lone and dreary, 

And the waters wide and high ; 
For I know across the river. 

There's a bright and sunny land, 
Where the hand doth never quiver 

Xor the form decrepit stand ; 

Where the hair doth never silver, 

Nor the head unbidden bow, 
And the passing ages never 

Put a wrinkle on the brow. 
And there's One will go beside me 

Through the river's breaking tide, 
That no waves may override me, 

Till I reach the other side. 



52 /iRusings on tbe Ma^ 

IN royal splendor sat the King, 

His courtiers before ; 
In festive merriment they sing 

Round him, the conqueror ; 
Till bacchanalian echoes ring 

Through court and corridor. 

Chaldea's bravest men are up 

To wait his royal pleasure ! 
Each lifts above a golden cup 

In merry, maudlin measure. 
And dares in sacrilege to sup 

From Judah's stolen treasure. 

And now upon their gods they call. 

Their favor loud inviting ; 
When, lo ! the glare of burnished hall 

The mystic letters lighting, 
Belshazzar sees upon the wall 

A phantom finger writing ! 

The heathen monarch quakes with fear ! 
He feels the fatal warning : 



/IRusinQS on tbe llCla^ 53 

He sees the fingers disappear ; 

Then to his vassals turning: : 
" Bring quickly here the wisest seer 

In oriental learning." 

In vain Chaldea heeds the call, — 

The sages of the nation ! 
Alike to magi, king, and all 

AVho seek an explanation, 
The vivid letters on the wall 

Defy interpretation ! 

And now a queenly voice is heard 

Before the banquet table : 
" Now trouble not, my king and lords, 

For there is one full able 
To read and tell to thee these words, 

O, mighty king of Babel ! " 

A youthful captive in the land 

Forthwith the princes summon. 

Who, while before him trembling stand 
His God's and Judah's foemen, 

Unfolds the writing of the hand, 
And tells the fearful omen ! 



54 /IRusinQS on tbc Mas 

^^ O mighty king, Belshazzar, heed ! 

This the inter]3retation : 
This night the Persian and the Mede 

Divide thy father's nation ; 
For thou art in the balance weighed, 

And this thy condemnation ! '' 

Next morning's sun arose and shone 

On Babylon's faded glory ! 
Her haughty princes stood alone. 

Their monarch dead and gory, — 
A Persian sat upon the throne 

To tell the captor's story ! 



^be Beauti? of tbe Xor& 

I ASKED the lily, blooming fair, 

"Sweet flower, can you tell me where 
My soul may find that wondrous thing. 
The beauty of the Lord, my King ? " 
The lily bended modestly. 
And meekly said, "It is in me ; " 



^usinfls on tbe Mas 55 

The flower Avas sweet, and pure, and rare, 
But all I looked for was not there. 

I asked the mountain, rearing high 

Its snow-cap23ed summit to the sky ; 

A voice came from its lofty peak, 

'^ Tis here, the beauty thou dost seek." 

Sublimely beautiful and grand, 

I saw in it my Father's hand ; 

His voice was in the whispering air, 

But all I looked for was not there. 

I asked the starry dome beyond. 
And heard each twinkling orb respond : 
'' In me and in my sister spheres 
The beauty of the Lord appears." 
And true, so bright it seemed to me, 
I thought yon lighted arch might be 
The portal of a land more fair : 
But all I looked for was not there. 

Thus all around me and above 
I saw my Father's hand of love ; 
I traced his wisdom and his power. 



56 /Iftusings on tbe "M^^ 

In sea, and sky, and field and flower ; 
With rapturous joy my eyes surveyed 
The wondrous things my God had made ; 
But still my seeking soul implored, 
" Show me the beauty of the Lord." 

I lingered at the Mercy Seat, 
Low down before the Master's feet : 
A voice more soft than mother's tone 
Said sweetly," Child, thou shalt be shown 
What thou dost seek : give me thine heart, 
Nor keep for self one single part, 
And I shall stamp, O seeking one, 
The beauty of the Lord thereon." 



^ 



a Common CreeJ) 

I A GOD of omnipotence know, 

One of infinite Justice and Love, 
As the Maker of creatures below 

And the hosts that adore him above. 



/Ilbusinas on tbc Ma^ 57 

And the truth of his Word I receive 
As a himp to the wayfaring man ; 

As a Star unto them that believe, 

And to them that reject it, a ban. 

Though I may not be able to read 

And interpret the Volume as you, 

I can understand all that I need 

As a law for the thing I should do. 

A man reaps, I believe, as he sows : 

That rewards are awaiting the just. 

And a bitter eternity, those 

Who have sown to the flesh and its lust. 

I believe that the Crucified One 

Was the Son of the Infinite God, 

And I hope for salvation alone 

On the merits of Jesus's blood. 

These are all the essentials I claim ; 

And what matters what else I believe ? 
For it constitutes only a name. 

Which will neither condemn me nor save. 



58 /lftusin00 on tbc Mais 

II Xlve IFt HU ®\>er Hgaln 

A S flows the great tide from the breast of the deep 
^^ And backward again to the sea, 
So oft from the Past-land the soft billows sweep, 

And bring back its treasures to me. 
Too vivid they seem for a vision or dream, 

Their pleasures, their anguish, their pain, 
And all I had cast to the winds of the Past 
Come back to my heart and my brain. 

Once more I'm a bare-footed boy on the green ; 

I'm all out of breath in the play ; 
I take not a thought pf the shine nor the rain, 

Nor care for the length of the day. 
I sit at the long, slanting desk in the school, 

My jack-knife I use for a pen ; 
I feel the keen smart of the master's ferule. 

And live it all over again. 

I walk once again in the fair land of Love ; 

The sky never looked half so blue ; 
The world all around and the worlds all above 

Seem made as if only for two. 




I like still to think of its first golden dawn, 
And live it all over again." 

— / live it all oner a(fain.. Page 



busings on tbc Mas 61 

Though more than a score are the years that have 
gone, 

And love has grown stronger since then, 
I like still to think of its first golden dawn, 

And live it all over again. 

And now, as the day and its toiling is o'er, 

The children are watching in glee ; 
Some fleet little feet I see bound from the door 

And little hands waving to me. 
Then down on the floor are the children and I — 

The sand-man will not come till ten : 
Oh, memory sweet ! How I laugh and I cry. 

And live it all over again ! 

I sit where the Death Angel hovers o'erhead, 

A nd watch the faint, flickering spark ; 
I follow my dead to their cold, narrow bed 

And leave them alone in the dark. 
Oh ! deep is the moan of the billows to-night. 

As they come from the Sorrow-land's shore ; 
The sigh will come back and the tears dim the sight — 

I live it all over once more. 



62 /llbusinss on tbe Ma^ 

Oh ! how shall it be when the soul takes its flight 

Beyond the dark bounds of the tomb ? 
Shall earth's billows reach to the Haven of Light 

And down to the region of gloom ? 
Oh, God I there are memories sweet I would keep, 

And take them across the dark wave ; 
But bury, oh bury, my sins in the deep ! 

Oh, hide them away in the grave ! 



Stran&eb 

OTILL beautiful and strong and grand. 
Almost in port, yet on the sand. 

But what avails her stately form. 

Her great stout heart and giant arm ? 

But yesterday old Ocean deep 

Was proud to bear her on her breast ; 

To-day her billows round her sweep 

And laugh to see her thus distressed. 

Helpless, she seeks a friendly hand 
To lift her from her bed of sand ; 



^11611100 on tbe IMa^ 63 

But still the bars retain their grip 
And closer clasp the stranded ship. 
Then rests the proud St. Paul until 

God's breath shall o'er the waters sweep, 
And send a storm to lift her keel 

And launch her out into the deejD. 

Fit simile of stranded souls, 
This helpless ship ujDon the shoals ; 
Dee23 bedded in the sands of sin. 
They strive to rise by power within, 
Only to find, alas ! how weak 

Poor human nature is at best ; 
And that when human aid we seek. 

It fails us at the final test. 

At last, when fails all human trust. 
And pride is humbled in the dust, 
We turn to Him who in His hands 
Holds hearts as well as seas and lands. 
It may be that the storm must come ! 

But underneath flows deejD and wide 
(To bear the stranded sinner home) 

God's love — an everlasting tide. 



64 busings on tbc Mai2 

^be Dalles of Belteving 

N TOT a sinner, wild and wanton, 

But a worshiper devout, 
Long I wandered on the mountain 

In the wdklerness of Doubt, 
Till the search-light of the S|)irit 

O'er my darkened pathway broke, 
And a voice — I still can hear it, — 

Soft and sweetly to me spoke : 

'' Cease thy mourning and thy grieving. 

For the land that thou dost seek 
Is the Valley of Believing 

In the Kingdom of the Meek. 
Wouldst thou find this land of beauty, 

Not a moment needst thou wait ; 
There's a path whose name is Duty 

Leads directly to the gate. 

" There's a soul-refreshing river 

Flowing through this pleasant scene. 

And its banks are covered ever 

With a fresh and living green. 



/IRusiiiGS on tbe Mas 65 

There the tree of Faith is growing 

Deeply rooted in the soil, 
And the fragrance it is throwing 

Is the bloom of holy Toil. 

'' Now and then the clonds will gather 

And the shadows sometimes fall, 
Bnt the snnlight of the Father 

Still is shining back of all. 
And, oh, best of all, and dearest, 

In this valley of the blest, 
When the clonds are hanging nearest 

Yon may find the sweetest rest." 



Zhon 2)lt)6t XTbinft of fIDe 

\^7HEN thon didst with pity'ng eye 

Leaye thy Father's throne on high 
Leave a heavenly diadem 
For a crib in Bethlehem, 
Jesus, thon didst think of me ; 
Do I, do I think of thee ? 



66 /IRuslngs on tbe Ma^ 

Blessing, helping every one, 
Yet rejected by thine own ; 
Buffeted and spit upon, 
Oh, thou blessed. Holy One, 
This, because thou thought of me ! 
Do I, do I think of thee ? 



Praying in Gethsemane ; 

Agonizing on the tree ; 

When, with breaking heart, thou cried 

" It is finished,'' bowed and died, 

Jesus, thou didst think of me ! 

Do I, do I think of thee ? 



On his hands my name I see : 
In the grave he thinks of me. 
Vain, oh Calvary, thy doom ! 
Jesus rises from the tomb. 
Evermore to think of me ; 
Jesus, I will think of thee. 




/IRusincj0 on tbc Ma^ 67 

2)0 lit mow 

DY the lij), tlie leaf, the pen, 
Speed the Gospel tidings on 

To the waiting hearts of men. 

What you have to give or say, 
Give it noAv, and say to-day. 

Sow a little wayside talk ; 

Sow a sunny daily walk — 

God will watch and nurse the stalk. 

Only do the planting thou — 

Do it early, do it now. 

By the purse, the prayer, the song. 
Send the blessed Word along, 
Into every land and tongue ; 

Whatsoe'er it be, or how. 

Do it early, do it now. 

True and steady to the chart. 
Hand in hand and heart to heart, 
Let us do a hero's part. 

Some may sow and some may plow. 

Do it early, do it now. 



/IRusings on tbe Mai5 



Zhc Ibarveater of S)ai?6 

T WISHED that I could do some deed 

That would not die 
But bear for men some precious meed 

As years went by ; 

Or speak some word by tongue or pen 

That might live on, 

And bless the lives of other men 

When I was gone. 

Scarce mental form my wishes took, 

Than to my side 

A spectral form with reaping hook 

Appeared to glide. 

I started ! but the shadowy hand, 

Though light as air. 
Gave, by a touch, a mute command 

That held me there. 

Whence came that silent guest of mine 

I could not tell. 

Nor did he deign, by word or sign. 

To break the spell. 



/lBu6in(is on tbc "Uaais 

" Pray, tell me who or what thou art, 

Unbidden guest," 

My lips essayed, with frighted heart. 

To make request ; 

And then, with sad and solemn gaze. 

He slowly said : 

'' I am the ' Harvester of Days 

You think are dead.'' 

" Perhaps 'tis well, for Life's success, 

That men should cast 
The mantle of Forgetfulness 

Upon the Past. 

" But listen ! Ye who hope to veil 

The Past as dead ; 

I travel close upon its trail 

With silent tread ; 

" I garner every word and deed 

With zealous care ; 
For every one contains a seed 

Of wheat or tare. 



70 /Iftueinas on tbe Ma^ 

^' The husbandman at eve may sow 

And die ere dawn : 

But does the seed forget to grow 

When he is gone? 

" So tongue and hand may both decay 

And never know 

The heart-seeds scattered by the way 

For weal or woe. 

" Seest in my hand this cup of tears 

I reaped this morn ? 

'Twas in a word in long-past years 

The seed was born. 

" These flowers of Love whose petals throw 

Such sweet perfume, 

In some kind deed long years ago 

Began to bloom. 

And thus I reap — a flower here, ' 

A nettle there ; 

Sometimes a smile, sometimes a tear. 

Sometimes a prayer." 



/libusings on tbc llUla^ 71 

" What hast thou reaped of mine ? " I cried. 

My guest Avas gone, 
And left my own heart to decide 

What I had sown ! 



T 



fforwart) in lb(6 IRame 

HE long roll-call is sounding, 

Let Israel awake ! 
And every heart responding, 

New zeal and courage take. 
With all upon the altar 

And spirit all aglow. 
We cannot stay nor falter 

When Duty bids us go. 

We'll find the way retarded 
By lions in the path, 

And every stronghold guarded 
By mighty men of Gath. 

But if these things affright us 

When shall the way be free ? 



72 /llbU6ings on tbe "Mai? 

When Satan shall invite us — 
And that will never be. 

If Christians did not weaken 

When nearing Satan's grounds, 
His kingdom should be shaken 

From centre to its bounds. 
Our weakness shall not matter, 

Unless it comes of doubt ; 
One shall a thousand scatter, 

And two ten thousand rout. 

The hour is here for moving, 

Wait not the morrow's sun ; 
The Church our faith is proving, 

The victory must be won. 
Then gird the armor, brother. 

To loiter would be shame ; 
Press close to one another, 

And forward in His name. 



iftusings on tbc TOaB 73 

Sbe Matb 2)one Mbat Sbe doult) 

MARK xiv : 8 

" OHE hath done what she could," said the Master, 
"^ " for me ; " 

HoAv tender and sweet was the word ! 
" And the deed she hath done her memorial shall be 

Wherever my gospel is heard." 

Ah, 'tis this that must try every deed that we do 

Ere Jesus pronounces it good ; 
Not the thing that is done, but the love it may show. 

And whether we've done what we could. 

There are some who are struggling along on the way 
And reaping, they think, only leaves, 

Whilst others return at the close of the day 
And bring in a harvest of sheaves. 

But the eye of the Master is on every one, 
Not a sigh nor a tear has been lost ; 

And it is not the much nor the little Ave've done, 
But, what has the offering cost ? 

Not the jioor widow's mite nor the gold of the king 

Shall count of itself in the test ; 
It will not be the stamp of the coin that we bring. 

But whether the gift is our best. 



74 /iftusinQs on tbe Ma^ 

at tbe forfte 

nPHOUGH some things I have buried in the flood 

of passing years, 
And others I could cast away without regret or tears, 
I never shall forget the days I knelt at mother's side, 
And said the little prayers she taught — I could not 
if I tried. 

As now I call it to my mind, how near the kingdom 

then! 
Much nearer, saddest thought of all, than e'er I'll be 

again ; 
For then I felt a yearning for the wiser, better part. 
Whilst now it seems there's naught can melt nor 

touch my stony heart. 

I think sometimes I feel again, but even were it so. 
The soul has grown too sordid now for better thoughts 

to grow. 
'Tis but their ghosts that haunt me now, that flit 

before my brain. 
Dissolving ere I catch their form, like raindrops on 

the pane. 



^usinfls on tbc inaag 75 

Ah, well do I remember how the better life within 
Kepelled the tempter as I stood before the door of sin. 
I lingered on its threshold long, I heard my mother's 

voice 
And all of childhood's hallowed j)rayers constrain 

me to a choice. 

To linger was to yield at last ; the syren's voice was 

sweet. 
And soon my mother's prayers and tears lay scattered 

at my feet. 
Yon ask me why I chose the worse and knew the 

better way ? 
Alas ! the choice that proved for aye was meant but 

for a day ! 

I have not seen by many years my three score years 

and ten, 
But such as they have been I would not live them 

o'er again. 
The world has paid me something back ; I've seen 

my stores increase, 
But I would give them all to-night for one sweet hour 

of peace. 



76 /Iftu6ln00 on tbc Ma^ 

It must coirie soon, if ever, for the silver in my hair 
Is not so much the frosts of years as tlie whiteness of 

despair. 
There still is time ? perhaps, perhaps ; to me no hope 

it bodes, — 
My time was when I stood a boy, at the parting of 

the roads. 

Ah, were I at the forks again, as on that luckless day, 
And I could gather up the pearls that then I threw 

away, 
I'd bind them tight around my neck, a cord of purest 

gold. 
Or lock them deep within my heart, and God the 

key should hold. 

But that is past, 'twas but a thought — a ray of 

phantom light 
That flits across my brain anon ; I see it while I 

write ; 
'Twill vanish soon, and soon, too soon, forever take 

its flight, 
And I be left alone again the long and dismal night ! 



yRbuslngs on tbe lilfla^ 77 

Cbautauqua 1b\)mn 

DY thy favor, Lord, we gather 
In our Circle here to-night ; 
Guide our minds, O gracious Father, 

Give them more than human sight ; 
Lead us ever. 
In our studies, toward the light. 

See we in the realm of story 

Nations flourish and decline ? 
In their fall, as in their glory. 

May we see the Hand Divine ; 
Lamp of Wisdom, 
Shine on every j^age and line. 

As we search the field of learning. 

Let us sift as we pursue ; 
By the Higher Light discerning 

What is false and what is true ; 
Choosing rather 
Older truths than errors new. 



78 /iftusinas on tbe Ma^ 

Zbc MwQ of tbe flvor^ palace 

ALL THEIR GARMENTS SMELL OF MYRRH, AND ALOES, AND CASSIA, OUT 
OF THE IVORY PALACES.— Ps. xlv : 8. 

T^HE King has come from His home of white ; 

Down to the earth in its darkest night, 
To sweeten the world and make it bright, 
The King of the Ivory Palace comes ! 

His garments smell of the cassia's bloom, 
The aloe's wood and the myrrh's perfume ; 
Ye kings and princes of earth, make room. 
The King of the Ivory Palace comes ! 

How sad it was that the world should wait 
Bo long for Him at the Prophet's Gate, 
Then turn away in its scorn and hate 

When He from His ivory palace came. 

The King has gone to His home again ; 
He leaves His peace and His joy with men ; 
" The Comforter I will send you then," 
The King of the Ivory Palace said. 

My King has said He will come again ; 
I know not how, and I know not when ; 
I'll watch and wait, and I'll pray, and then, 
Go home with thelvory Palace King. 



/IBusings on tbe lllla^ 79 

HU along tbe mn^ 

IT is not so much the reaping, 
As the sowing of the seed ; 
It is not so nuich the wee]3ing, 

As it is the kindly deed, 
Keeps the spirit's fire glowing 
And our love for Jesus growing 
Bright and brighter every day — 
Bright and brighter all along the way. 



It is not the simply weaving 

Of a promise here and there ; 
Working, waiting and believing 

Is the golden chain of prayer. 
It is working and obeying 
Brings the answer to our praying 
In a blessing every day — 
In a blessing all along the way. 

Not the every-day renewing 
Of our consecration vow, 

But our readiness for doing 
Every present duty now, 



80 /IRusings on tbc Mai2 

Brings us heaven's smile and favor, 
And the sweetness of its savor 
Lingers with us all the day — 
Lingers with us all along the way. 

Let not duty, then, defeat you ; 

Face it bravely every day ; 
Jesus promises to meet you — 

Meet you more than half the way ; 
He the load will lift and lighten, 
And the pathway smooth and brighten 
By His presence every day — 
By His presence all along the way. 



' T^IS Thanksgiving morn again ! 

Lift your voices, sons of men. 
From the earth to God above, — 
Lift your hearts in praise and love. 

Thank Him for His loving care ; 
Thank Him for the blessed air ; 



/Ibusitifls on tbe IHIlas 81 

Thank Him for the sunlight shed ; 
Thank Him for your daily bread. 

Thank Him that our favored land, 
By the bounty of His hand, 
Richly her abundance yields 
From her orchards and her fields. 

Thank Him that no pois'nous breath, 
Freighted with the germs of death, 
O'er our land pursues its path 
In its all-consuming wrath. 

While the sweeping blast of war 
Rages over lands afar. 
Thank Him that the wings of Peace 
All our wide domain embrace. 

Sons of men, your voices lift 
For the precious, priceless gift 
Offered up for you and me. 
On the Mount of Calvarv ! 



82 /Iftusings on tbe Ma^ 

triune prater 

HP HERE are prayers of the heart ; there are pray- 
ers of the head ; 
There are prayers that are prayed and prayers that 

are said. 
The prayer of the head is well-rounded and wise ; 
The prayer of the heart may bring tears to the eyes ; 
But the prayer that is quickest to reach the Most High, 
And the surest to bring back the Father's reply — 
The prayer that the world never misunderstands — 
Is the triune petition of Heart, Head and Hands. 



fll>ae 

\ 7 IE WED only by the feeble rays 

The lamp of human wisdom lends, 

How dark the Providential ways 

That rob us of our dearest friends ! 

But yesterday we looked on one 

Whose years we counted far ahead ; 

When, lo ! the morrow's sun looked down 
And she we loved so well, is dead. 



/IRusinas on tbc IHfla^ 83 

With eyes bediinmed and bated breath 

We look upon the pallid face, 
And wonder why the Angel Death 

Should call her to his cold embrace. 

But, no ! We'll not think thus of her ; 

'Tis but the mortal that is mute ; 
The same keen frost that breaks the bur 

Will sweeten and mature the fruit. 

'Tis hard when earthly ties are torn ; 

The heart will bleed — God made it so ; 
But O, beside the pointed thorn 

The fragrant rose of Hope will groAV. 

I would not quell the heaving breast ; 

I would not check the tears that fall ; 
For they Avho knew our sister best 

Know too that she deserves them all. 

But though to-day we weep for Mae, 

Whose voice is hushed, whose hand is chill. 

We look beyond this house of clay 
And think of her as living still. 



84 /IftusinQS on tbe Tima^ 

To us her memory shall be dear, 

And when we sing of Jesus' love, 

We'll list ! Perhaps our hearts may hear 
The same sweet song from her above. 



flDan Mae IRot flDa&e to flDourn 



I've seen yon weary winter's sun 

Twice forty times return. 
And every time was added proof 

That man was made to mourn.— Bwri 



nPHE poet sings a mournful song, 

Whose melancholy part 
Has doubtless found an echo strong 

In many a human heart ; 
But in the great Eternal Mind 

Where first a soul was born, 
No such stern fiat do I find 

As, " Man was made to mourn." 

When fresh from the Creative Hand, 
He stood a lordly king. 

To have and hold supreme command 
O'er every living thing, 



/Bbusin^s on tbe iwaas 85 

And heaven had given of its best 

An Eden to adorn, 
Man had not even there been blest, 

Had he been made to mourn. 

God looked uj)on the finished earth : 

" Behold, 'tis good," He said ; 
Nor thorn nor thistle yet had birth, 

Nor human tear been shed. 
'Twas meant that man should live, not die, 

And he had never worn 
The stamp of immortality. 

Had he been made to mourn. 

'Twas not until a crafty foe, 

With rank and poisonous breath. 
Had entered Paradise below 

And sown the seeds of death ; 
'Twas not till man had disobeyed. 

And sin its fruit had borne. 
That Paradise began to fade 

And man began to mourn. 

Alas ! though Adam sinned and died, 
The seed which then took root. 



86 ^U6ings on tbe Ma^ 

Has grown and scattered far and wide, 

And borne its bitter fruit ; 
E'er since, life's flowers of sweetest bloom 

Have grown beside the thorn, 
And from the cradle to the tomb 

Man ceases not to mourn. 

Through Eden's long-continued gloom 

This Star of Hope has gleamed : 
When Shiloh shall again have come 

And Paradise redeemed ; 
When Earth, as Heaven, shall do his will. 

Then Satan shall be shorn 
Of all his potency for ill, 

And man shall cease to mourn. 

Till then, we'll wait, endure and toil. 

In sunshine or in showers. 
Content to know that when we call 

The Promised HeljD is ours ; 
Some day, beyond this lower land. 

When earthly ties are torn. 
We'll see and better understand — 

Man was not made to mourn. 



/Wbusin^s on tbe TUIla^ 87 

Wlben far Hetrai? 

\ A /HEN far astray in sin, one day 

The loving Saviour passed my way ; 
Helpless, and sick, and sore, I lay, 
Deep in the pit and miry clay. 

He stooj)ed and touched me in my shame ; 
I felt His touch, I breathed His name ; 
A thrill divine went through my soul — 
I felt that touch had made me whole. 

" For you I drank the bitter cup ;" 
Thus Jesus said and raised me up : 
He raised me up, O praise the Lamb, 
From what I was to what I am ! 

I know the depths from whence I came ; 
Thou knowest, too, how weak my frame ; 
Keej) Thou my hand within Thine own. 
For, O, I dare not walk alone ! 

Close by the side of such a Friend, 
Whose love could such a depth descend, 
I shall not wander from the fold. 
For ])ower to save is grace to hold. 



88 /Iftusings on tbe Mai2 

^be CbUbrcn'6 Jubilee 

r\ SUNNIEST month of all the year ! 
^^^ The rosy month that we love so dear, 
We welcome you with a song of cheer ! 
The day of our Jubilee is here. 

Gladly let the chimes be rung ! 
Cheerily let the song be song ! 
Join in the chorus every tongue, 

And welcome the Children's Jubilee ! 

We gather here in a happy throng ! 
We greet our friends with a merry song, 
For joy and cheer to the day belong — 
The day of the Children's Jubilee ! 

The flowers smile as they look at me. 
The breezes, too, have a note of glee ; 
The birds unite in the melody. 

And sing for the Children's Jubilee. 

The sunny cheer of this festive day 
Shall not depart with the evening's ray. 
But linger with us along our way. 
An echo of this our Jubilee. 



^usinfls on tbe Mai? 89 

jforbearance 

A HEBREW LEGEND 

A A 7" HEN the sun had gone down, so the legend is 
^^ told, 
And his flocks had been sheltered all safe in their fold, 
Father Abraham sat at the door of his tent. 
When a travel- worn stranger, decrepit and bent, 
Bowdng low as he halted, said : " Father, I pray. 
Canst thou shelter a pilgrim till dawn of the day ? " 

Father Abraham rose and saluted his guest : 

" Thou art welcome, my son, to abide here and rest ; 

Though thy name I know not, still, a brother thou 

art. 
And of such that I have thou shalt share in a part ; 
For the God who hath blessed me hath He also not 

said, 
' When the stranger shall ask thee refuse him not 

bread ? ' " 

" Since thou ow^nst me a brother," the visitor said, 
'' I shall take but my own when I take of thy 
bread ; 



90 /nbusings on tbc Ma^ 

Were the God whom thou servest a just God and 

good, 
Not a creature he made should go begging for food ; 
Of the goods that thou hast thou dost know in thine 

heart 
Thou hast more than thine own, and a robber thou 

art." 

" As I live, there is naught of my flock or my store 
That was ever denied him who stopped at my door ; 
But for him that revileth my God, neither bread 
Nor a shelter have I," Father Abraham said ; 
And so saying the stranger he sent on his way. 
Not so much as a " God speed thee well till the day." 

'^Abraham ! " And the patriarch bowed at the word. 
For he knew 'twas the voice of the Lord that he 

heard ; 
" I am grieved and displeased at the thing thou hast 

done ; 
Thou didst check, it is true, an undutiful son ; 
But since I with his faults have for many years 

borne, 
Couldst not thou have endured them at least till the 

morn ? " 



busings on tbe llUa^ 91 

^rue Mieboni 

T^HE world is rich in human lore, 
And wise is he who early trains 

His mind its riches to explore, 

And gather in its golden grains. 

But wiser he that early seeks 

That wisdom whereof we are told 

Its merchandise more worth bespeaks 
Than merchandise of purest gold. 

Her price not rubies can command ; 

All else is dross compared with her ; 
The length of days is in her hand 

And all the honor they confer. 

O, seek her young ! With steadfastness 
Cling to her as thy years increase ; 

For hers are ways of pleasantness, 

And all her paths are paths of peace. 



92 /iRusin^s on tbe Wais 

®, Xet 1It6 Soft milom IRoU lln 

T^HERE'S a song of the heart I would sing you 
to-night, 

A song I have sung o'er and o'er, 
Though my words were but feeble to speak its 
delight, 

Or tell of the sweetness it bore. 
'Tis the song that my soul in its ecstasy sung 

When Jesus, the crucified One, 
In His tender compassion looked down where I clung, 

And lo ! the great burden was gone ! 

O'er my heart, like the first mellow beams of the 
morn. 
There swept the soft melody wave. 
And it bore the glad news of a soul newly born. 

It told me that Jesus could save. 
Oh, the peace, the sweet peace that was mine in that 
hour 
When Jesus first supped with my soul, 
When I knew that the blood of the Saviour had 
power 
To make a poor penitent whole. 



^usinfls on tbe Mai2 93 

In the years that have gone since I gave Him my life 

To mold to His own perfect will, 
In the sunshine of joy, or the tempest of strife, 

I hear the sweet melody still. 
O, this song you may hear if you open your hearts 

And want to be saved from your sin ; 
Even now you may catch the sweet strains of its 
parts — 

O, let its soft billows roll in ! 



J' 



C;brougb ^rbc Dalles of Baca 

WHO, PASSING THROUGH THE VALLEY OF BACA, MAKE IT A WELL, 
Ps. Ixxxiv ; 6. 

T^HOUGH desolate and drear their road 

Who uj) to Mount Moriah press, 
The worshipers in hymns to God, 

Forget the arid wilderness. 
Their hearts are watered by the stream 

That rises from the fount of love ; 
And every Baca's vale to them 

Becomes an Elim's fertile grove. 



94 /nbuslngs on tbe "Mn^ 

We, too, as pilgrims day by day, 

To Zion's city out of sight, 
Meet many a Baca by the way, 

And many a rugged mountain height. 
Above us and around about 

Dense clouds of disbelief apjDcar ; 
Till sometimes, in the mist, we doubt 

If ever more the skies will clear. 

Oh, had we but the Psalmist's zeal 

To penetrate the misty vale. 
And midst the thickest clouds to feel 

God's promises can never fail. 
Our hearts with thankfulness would swell. 

Our voices have a song to sing ; 
And just beyond the bitter well 

We'd find the sweet, refreshing spring. 




^usiuQs on tbe Mas 95 

lit Ibae (Sonc 

"T^WAS a flower that bloomed in the home for a 

day— 
A delicate blossom too tender to stay ; 
But so close to our hearts had its young tendrils 

grown, 
The life that it lived was a part of our own. 

Like a flower untimely consumed by a blight, 
It faded, and withered, and passed from our sight; 
But the rose will return with the summer's first heat, 
Its petals as soft and its perfume as sweet. 

Xot so with the one that we tenderly laid 
Away in its home in the Northwoodland shade : 
It has gone to its own — the frail dust to the sod. 
The babe to new life in the bosom of God. 

Though it will not come back, we will think of it 

there 
Where blight cannot come and disease cannot wear. 
Though it will not come back, it will be but a span 
Until, in that land, we shall clasp it again. 



96 /IRusinQS on tbe Wia^ 

Zhc fIDfeaionari? pioneer 

FN ages past, remote and near, 

Brave men have sought to win a name 
That might outlive their brief career. 

Emblazoned on the scroll of fame. 
No sea has been too wide to stem ; 

No crime too great for men to dare ; 
But welcome any cost to them 

Could they the precious meed but share. 

And yet, how few who've sought the prize 

Have left an imprint e'en behind ; 
Of these, how many to despise ! 

How few to love by human kind ! 
The brightest names that from decay 

The page of history may save. 
Are not of those who cut their way 

Through paths of glory to the grave. 

Save those who, thoughtless of a name. 
Pursued the path where duty led. 

The rights of nature to reclaim 

From Despotism's hated head. 



/iRusin^s on tbe Ma^ 97 

And tliem, let Fame in honor set, 

The foremost in her courted tier ; 

Mine is the nobler hero yet — 
The Missionary Pioneer ! 

True heroism is to dare 

When Self says " Stay," and Duty, ''Go!" 
When fortune has no smile to wear, 

Nor fame a laurel to bestow ; 
When friendship and the kindred ties 

Would lure them to their native shore, 
And hoj^es that once illumed their skies 

Must be foregone forevermore. 

True heroism is to stand. 

When danger threatens, in the van. 
And sacrifice your own right hand, 

If needs, to save a fellow man. 
And such the ones who go to face 

A living death, if only they 
May lead a poor, benighted race. 

To Him, the true and living Way. 

But though he does not jDlaudit seek. 
From every heathen land there rise 



98 /IftusiriQS on tbe "Ma^ 

A thousand witnesses to speak 

The good man's work and sacrifice. 

A hundred islands of the sea, 

Once groaning under Error's rod, 

Have been by Gospel truth made free. 
And worship now the living God. 

Where flows the Indus to beguile 

The unenlightened soul and mind ; 
Where sweeps the long, majestic Nile, 

And Niger's darksome waters wind, 
The seed is sown, and churches rise 

On spots where pagan temples stood ; 
And opened heart, and mind, and eyes. 

Attest the Missionary's good. 

Though great the work these men have wrought, 

And many lands have been redeemed. 
How many yet remain untaught 

On whom the light has never gleam_ed ! 
Let tongues still speak. Let hearts still pray, 

And follow up what these have done, 
Till toil and faith in God's own day 

Shall consummate the work begun. 



^usinos on tbe llUa^ 99 

3oi? 'inp Zbcvc 

\ A 7HAT a joy ujd there ] 

When the angels bear 
The news of a soul forgiven ! 

There is a joy on earth 

At a soul's new birth, 
But greater, I think, in heaven. 

Could we catch the strain 
Of the glad refrain 
As the angels sing the story, 
i^ It would mean for some, 

J In the time to come, 

A star in their crown of glory. 

Do we hope to share 

In that song \ip there 
With those that have gone before us ? 

There's a song of cheer 

We must learn down here. 
Akin to the heavenly chorus. 



100 



/nbusings on tbe Wia^ 




nPHE pencil of artist with exquisite grace 

Has stolen from Nature the charms of her face ; 
The river and meadow, the ripe field of grain, 
The wide-spreading prospect of mountain and plain. 



But artist and poet, at dawn of the day. 
Have looked on a picture they could not portray. 
When queenly Aurora as Night's shadow flies 
Walks forth in her beauty and pencils the skies ; 



^usinc^s on tbc llllai? lOi 

Or when, in full glory and majesty dressed, 
The Kmg of the Morning declines in the west ; 
How many have viewed him with rapt'rous delight. 
And sighed for the power to pencil the sight ! 

Or when, far descending, he moves on apace. 
His rays still illumine the moon's silver face. 
And softly, but stately, the stars in their place. 
Come out in their splendor to light the blue space. 

In wonder I watch them ! I think the bright dome 
Was surely intended for somebody's home ; 
What if, when the Future its entrance unbars. 
We find an abode in the beautiful stars ! 

The sky has been ever an emblem of life — 
Its sunshine and shadow, its rest and its strife ; 
Its Summer-day blue as an emblem of Truth, 
How like the bright morning of childhood and 
youth. 

But often Avhen brightest, the soonest o'erhead 
The storm-cloud arises, the sunlight is sped ; 
When hearts are the lightest, and joy overflows, 
How quickly life's pleasures are turned into woes. 



102 /Iftusings on tbe Ma^ 

E'en childhood itself has its sorrow to drink, 
And often more bitter its cup than we think ; 
But quick as the mists of the morn they depart 
And sunshine and gladness come back to the heart. 

But O, at the noonday of life, or its eve, 

How loth are the clouds that o'erhang us to leave ! 

It is hard to see light through the gloom that 

enshrouds; 
So hard to know why He dispels not the clouds. 

The day will come back, though the night may be 

long; 
The storm will abate, be it ever so strong ; 
And so, as the shadows fall round, let us learn 
To trust Him and wait for the sunshine's return. 




/nbusincjs on tbe Ma^ 103 

(So^'B dboecn Xanb 

I OWN Thy Sovereign hand divine, 

Thou universal King ; 
My heart's best love, O God, is Thine, 

And less I would not bring ; 
And loving Thee, I shall the more 
Mv own dear native land adore ; 
For love of home is but the bud 
Whose fullest bloom is love of God. 

If e'en when pressed by tyrant's heel 
Till heaven itself seems black. 

The wand'rinof exile still can feel 
His home-love call him back. 

How proud my own heart ought to be, 

America, to tell of thee, 

A land in long reserve by God 

For worthy men to turn its sod. 

Talk not of Canaan's fertile plains. 
Nor speak of Ophir's mine ; 

What mountain holds, what soil contains 
Such wondrous wealth as thine? 



104 /lRu6inQ6 on tbe Wai2 

And with it all is this our boast — 
That from our east to western coast 
Each shining light in yon blue dome 
Looks down upon a freeman's home. 

Not one of all the flags of earth, — 

Whatever else it types, — 
Proclaims a common right by birth, 

ExcejDt the Stars and Stripes. 
To human kind oppressed by Wrong 
The night of waiting seems so long, 
But wheresoe'er that flag is borne 
It bears a hojDC of coming morn. 

Let heart and voice unite to raise 
And swell with all their powers 

A song of gratitude and praise 
For such a land as ours ! 

And let, O God, a living coal 

From off thine altar touch my soul, 

That every fiber of my frame 

May burn with patriotic flame. 



/Iftu6in(}6 on tbe liUa^ 105 

XHabcn ZCbou paeee^t ^brougb tbe Matere 

IS there any heart discouraged as it journeys on its 

way ? 
Does there seem to be more darkness than there is of 

sunny day ? 
Oh, it's hard to learn the lesson, as we pass beneath 

the rod. 
That the sunshine and the shadow serve alike the will 

of God ; 
But there comes a word of j)romise like the promise 

in the bow — 
That however deep the waters they shall never 

overflow. 



When the flesh is worn and weary and the spirit is 

depressed. 
And temptations sweep u23on it like a storm on 

ocean's breast, 
There's a haven ever open for the tempest-driven 

bird. 
There's shelter for the tempted in the promise of the 

Word; 



106 /iRusings on tbe "Mais 

For the standard of the Spirit shall be raised against 

the foe, 
And however deep the waters they shall never 

overflow. 

When a sorrow comes upon you that no other soul 

can share, 
And the burden seems too heavy for the human heart 

to bear, 
There is One whose grace can comfort, if you'll give 

Him an abode ; 
There's a Burden-bearer ready if you'll trust Him 

with your load ; 
For the precious promise reaches to the depths of 

human woe, 
That however deep the waters they shall never 

overflow. 

When the sands of life are ebbing and I near the Jor- 
dan's shore ; 

When I see its billows rising and I hear its waters 
roar, 

I will reach my hand to Jesus, in His bosom I shall 
hide, 



/Hbusincis on tbe lima^ 107 

And 'twill only be a moment till I reach the other 

side ; 
It is then the fullest meaning of the promise I shall 

know, 
" When thou passest through the waters they shall 

never overflow." 



^ 



'*1I'm (5la^ II Came to Seaue'^ 

[Thomas Newman, a police house-sergeant, shortly after his conversion under 
the preaching of Rev. J. Wilbur Chapman, D.D., pastor of Bethany Presbyterian 
Church, was taken seriously ill, and began to sink rapidly. Just before death came, 
although apparently insensible to every appeal for some word oi- sign of recognition 
by the loved ones at his bedside, he was heard to say, '• I'm glad I came to Jesus."] 

f IFE'S fitful day was ending, 

The spark had almost fled ; 
Loved ones were o'er him bending, 

To catch the faint words said : 
" I'm glad I came to Jesus," 

Was all they heard him say, 
And then on joyful pinion 

The spirit sped its way. 

Could love's appeal have broken 
The stillness of the ear. 



108 /Iftusings on tbc Ma^ 

The lips could not have spoken 

A word more full of cheer. 
It meant that Christ was making 

The darksome valley light ; 
It meant that day was breaking 

And heaven was in sight. 

If Jesus thus can brighten 

The way while passing o'er, 
How shall its raptures heighten 

When safely on the shore ! 
The great white throng in glory, 

That sit at Jesus' feet, 
Alone can tell the story, 

Alone can tell how sweet. 

When falls the sable curtain 

And shades of night pervade, 
When sight becomes uncertain. 

And loved ones' voices fade, 
Oh, give me one bright moment. 

One moment just to sing, 
" I'm glad I came to Jesus " — 

Then let my soul take wing. 



/IRusinQS on tbe TMHa^ 109 

Mclconic to a ipaetor 

A WELCOME to our pastor 

Who comes divinely sealed, 
A servant of the Master 

To this appointed field. 
We give him cordial greeting 

With open hands and free, 
Our hearts the words repeating : 

" We welcome, welcome thee ! " 

We need his kindly counsel, 

His pastoral love and prayer ; 
He needs our kind remembrance 

In sympathy and prayer. 
And thus together sowing. 

We'll wait, and pray, and toil, 
And leave the harvest's growing 

To Him who knows the soil. 



110 flftusiiifls on tbe UaaB 

Mbat Sball l^ou answer Ibim ? 

A^/'HEN the Lord shall sit on His throne above, 

A Judge of the deeds of rnen, 
Should He seek to know why you spurned His love, 
Oh, what shall you answer Him then ? 

When the last name's writ'n, and the angel hand 

Lays down the recording pen, 
On the page of Life should your name not stand. 

Oh, how shall you answer Him then ? 

Should He show the wounds of the nails, and say, 

"All this would I bear again, 
But the Judgment Day is beyond delay," 

Oh, how shall you answer Him then ? 

Let us praise His name that He does not sit 

A Judge, but a Saviour still ; 
That the blood avails with the Father yet. 

And saves even now if you will. 



^usinss on tbc "Ma^ in 

H Melcome^^ 

PROM lands beyond the sea 
Back to dear Bethany 

We welcome thee ; 
Tho' other lands be bright 
And other scenes delight, 
We know your heart beats right 

For Bethany. 

This was our daily prayer : 
That God's j^rotecting care 

Might shelter thee, 
And that, thy sojourn o'er. 
Back to thy native shore 
He'd bring thee safe once more 

To Bethany. 

Our God has heard our prayer, 
And given us to share 

Our joy with thee ; 
And now with hearts sincere 
We welcome thee with cheer. 
For thou art ever dear 
To Bethany. 

* Sung at a reception of Bethany Sunday School to its Superintendent, Hon. 
John Wanamaker, on his return from his European tour. 



112 /lBu0lnQ6 on tbe Mai^ 

®n tbe SiMn' 

[ CAN'T jist tell, my brother, what the matter is, 

nor w'ar, 
But every day I'm feelin' that the 'vangelistic car 
Had gotten off the railin' of the sure and solid 

ground 
And was runnin' on the sidin' w'ar the ballast wasn't 

sound. 

I 'spects I'm old and cranky, and a laggin' in the 

race ; 
But for forty years and over, with the beatin' storms 

to face, 
I've been workin' and a prayin' and a watchin' in 

my place. 
And a waitin' for the blessin' and the promised day 

of grace. 

I haint no man of larnin' and am not the one to 

chalk 
A line of Christian duty for another man to walk. 
But I tell you, brethren truly, for I feel it in my 

heart. 
The fire isn't burnin' as it was upon the start. 



/IRusinas on tbe lOa^ 113 

I happened in a meetin' at St. Peter's t'other night ; 
The preacher was a speakin' of the Christian as a 

liglit ; 
I heerd a sudden shoutin' in the pew across the aisle, 
" O, glory, hallelujah ! " in a Jakey Gruber style. 

I felt like jinin' with 'em, but a brother in my rear ^ 
Said something in a whisper, loud enough for me to 

hear, 
About the noisy methods he'd hoped had passed away 
As bein' unbecomin' in this eddicated day. 

I noticed when the preacher said, " Beloved, let us 

pray," 
And he knelt down upon his knees in the Methodistic 

way, 
The people didn't follow suit, but only bowed the 

head. 
As if to take the easiest way to listen what was said. 

Ah, brother, will you hearken to a simple word or 

two? 
When first you found the Saviour, and the Saviour 

he found you, 



114 /Iftusings on tbe Wai^ 

When he rolled away the burden and set your heart 

atj easej 
There 'ain't much risk in sayin' that he found you on 

your knees. 

So mebbe when we're pray in' for the pentecostal 

token, 
And the heavens seem as brass, and the windows hard 

to open, 
We'd find the blessin' sooner if the people knelt to 

pray 
Right down upon their knees in the old Med'istic 

way. 

I haint no man of larnin', and when I read our Rules 
I mayn't understand them like the colleges and 

schools ; 
I read 'em plain and simple, and I always kind o' 

thought 
They jist were tellin' over what the Galilean taught. 

When I read of costly 'parel as a bein' out of place, 
And of shunnin' sich diversions as are not a friend 
to grace, 



/IRusings on tbe "Mas 115 

I jist stopped all debatin' of the question to or fro, 
And put it down as settled that the flummery must go. 

I'm still a stickin' to it, though the devil's been around, 
A whisperin' in my ear that the doctrine wasn't 

sound ; 
That the spirit of the age and the progress of the day 
And the larnin' of the pulpit were a leanin' t'other 

way. 

I didn't stay to listen or dispute the Evil One, 
Like Christian in the ''Progress" I jist stopped my 

ears and run ; 
For, to tell the truth, my brethren, and I say it to 

our shame. 
My mind was on some doin's that gave color to his 

claim. 

I knowed he'd been a workin' in among the Master's 

flock, 
And that some of them were slippin' from the sure 

and solid Rock. 
When I heerd of euchre play in' right in among the 

fold, 
And how the wine decanter was likewise takin' hold ; 



116 iHbusinss on tbc Mai^ 

When I seed the Class neglected, even crowded to the 

wall, 
By the pressin' invitations to the theatre and ball, 
I knowed the seeds were growin', that the world was 

on the top. 
And I thought, '^ When comes the harvest, oh, whose 

will be the crop ? " 

I hain't no man of larnin' and am not the man to 

chalk 
A line of Christian duty for another man to walk. 
But in days when I was coachin', this axiom was 

mine : 
" Drive all around the mountain to avoid the danger 

line." 

Now, while I've got to preachin,' I want to say to you, 
The trouble isn't lyin' altogether with the pew : 
I read, 'twas in the paper, last past a month or so. 
That Brother Blank had had a " call " but didn't 
'spect to go. 

I looked within the Discipline but couldn't find a word, 
'Bout " callin' " or " acceptin'," or " goin' " as pre- 
ferred : 



/IRusinQS on tbc ICla^ 117 

And in vain I scanned its pages for the book to 

'lucidate 
What another brother meant by a bein' on the 

" slate.'' 

Sich nomenclatur', brethren, is a burlesque on the 

law, 
As if the good old Discipline were a discipline of 

straw ; 
I'm not a carpin' critic for the sake of findin' fault, 
But don't you think, my brethren, we'd better call a 

halt ? 

I'm not a man of larnin' and am not the one to 

chalk 
A line of Christian duty for another man to walk. 
But I cannot help a wishin' for the good old days 

agin, 
When there was no ease in Zion, and no compromise 

with sin. 



118 /lRu0ing6 on tbe Mas 

^be lt)ani0be& Ibanb 

" O, for the touch of a vanished hand."— Tennyson. 

\ A /"E speak of a distant land unseen, 
Where glorified souls abide ; 
We're told that the veil that hangs between 

Has never been drawn aside. 
It may be so, but there's none can tell 

How near to the realm unknown ; 
How close to the vale beyond we dwell — 

How near to the loved ones gone. 

For oft I sit in the shadowy land. 

And long for the golden dawn. 
When there comes the touch of a vanished hand 

And I hear a voice that's gone. 
Sometimes at close of a toilsome day. 

Away from the marts of men, 
I kneel alone in my room and pray, 

And the joy comes back again. 

For heaven is near with a listening ear 

Wherever a suppliant bends. 
While an angel host awaits to bear 

The message the Father sends. 



#1 

t 




For oft I sit in the shadowy land, 

And long for the golden dawn, 
When there connes the touch of a vanished hand. 

And I hear a voice that's gone. 

— The Vanished Hand. 



flbusinss on tbe Mai? 121 

And is it, then, but a poet's dream 

To think that a Father's love, 
Might give to the longing soul a gleam — 

A glimpse of the land above ? 

And so I say as I sit to-day 

And think of the one that's gone, 
I cannot think of her far away. 

Nor think of myself alone. 
Only a fantasy ! Ah, I knew 

That you would not understand, 
Nor will, until there has come to you 

The touch of a vanished hand. 



J' 



Hn Heplratlon 

ET others press to write their name 
Upon the giddy heights of Fame — 
The goal is little worth the strife. 



L 



To loftier heights be mine to soar. 
Where names once written die no more — 

The names within the Book of Life. 



122 Ausings on tbe Mhb 

Iforget flt 



A NEW YEAR'S THOUGHT 



W 



H ATEVER in the twelve months gone 
Of good or bad that you have done, 
Forget it. 



He who has truly done his best, 
Upon this New Year's morn is blest ; 
But none can build for present needs 
A monument of past good deeds ; 
New duties with each day begin 
As if the past had never been — 
Forget it. 

Have you stopped upon the road 
To ease a brother of his load, 

Forget it. 
The kindnesses by others shown 
Remember ever ; but your own. 
Let them be to you unknown — 

Forget them. 

Has your brother done you wrong. 
Drop it in the New Year's song : 



/DbusinQS on tbc Ma^ 123 

If aught of happiness and cheer 
Is meant for you the coming year, 
Resentment will the sweetness waste 
And give the cup a bitter taste — 
Forget it. 

Perha23S you've wandered from the right, 
Perhaps have yielded in the fight 
Against a sinful appetite : — 

Forget it. 
Ask for pardon ere the light 
Of New^ Year's sinks into the night ! 
All the past, however black, 
Our Father casts behind His back. 
And promises, for Jesus' sake — 

To forget it. 




^^^-^ 



124 ^uain^s on tbe IWla^ 

^be Cbriet appears 

BEHOLD, THE DAYS COME, SAITH THE LORD, THAT I WILL RAISE UNTO 

DAVID A RIGHTEOUS BRANCH, AND A KING SHALL 

REIGN AND PROSPER.— Jer. xxili : 5. 

T^HUS near three thousand years ago 

Did Israel's prophet sing, 
And Israel waited long to know 

And greet the promised King. 
The fathers tell the wondrous tale, 

And children's children hear ; 
But Israel's prayer does not prevail — 

The Christ does not appear. 

'Tis night upon Judea's plain ! 

The shepherds watch their fold 
And once again rehearse the strain 

The prophets sang of old, 
When, lo ! the darkness of the night 

Breaks strangely into day ; 
And, frightened at the wondrous sight. 

They hear the angels say : 

" Fear not, fear not ! Behold, I bring 
Good tidings unto men ; 



/IRu5in06 on tbc llCla^ 125 

For unto you is born a King 

This day in Bethlehem ! " 
Then broke the chorus from the sky, 

The sweet angelic strain, — 
" Oh, Glory to our God, Most High ! 

Good will and peace to men ! '' 



Oh, that was the story the angels told 

And that was the Avondrous sight 
The shepherds beheld when they watched their fold 

On Bethlehem's plain that night. 

I think that the song was the sweetest song. 

The story the sweetest tale. 
That ever was sung by an angel's tongue 

This side of the golden vale. 

So eager the shepherds the news to spread 

They wait not the breaking morn. 
But haste to the town where the angels said 

The King of the world was born. 

There only a Bal)e in a manger lay. 

But hark what the shepherds sing : 
" 'Tis true ! 'Tis the Christ that has come to-day ; 

'Tis Israel's promised King ! " 



126 /Ifcusings on tbe ma^ 

^be Star of tbe lEaet 

N TOT in Judea's land alone 

Look they for a Conqueror's throne ; 
But far away in Eastern climes 
Are men discerning signs and times. 
Wise men who long had learned to trace 
Some curious things on Nature's face, 
Looked up one night and saw afar 
A new and strangely shining star. 

Though they had seen yon starry height 

Lit up by many a shining light, 

Yet never in their nightly range 

Had orb appeared so wondrous strange ; 

" If we do read aright," said they, 

" Yon orb portends the look-for day 

When One, we know not where nor whom 

As Universal King shall come ; " 

" Something within me bids us go 

And follow as yon star shall show." 

The Wise Men start upon their way ; 
Long months they travel night and day ; 



^uaitiQS on tbe Win^ 127 

At last the wondrous star descends 
And o'er the smiling infant bends ! 
Xo other sign the Wise Men need, 
They've found the new-born King, indeed ! 



e^ 



3C6U6 for HII 

A TRIO FOR A BOY, A YOUNG MAN, AND AN OLD MAN, 

CHILD 

[ 'YE learned to love my Saviour ; 

I'm but a child, 'tis true. 
But Jesus shows his favor 

To little children too. 
My heart, dear Jesus take it 

And let it be thy throne ; 
Yes, Jesus, take and make it 

A copy of thine own. 

YOUXG MAN ^ 

I love the same dear Saviour 
As does this little boy ; 



128 /Iftusings on tbe Wla^ 

I sought and found His favor 
And felt the same sweet joy, 

And now in manhood's power 
I'm walking in His way ; 

My sun, my shield, my tower, 
My everlasting stay. 

In vain the world may measure 

Its sweetest cup for me ; 
I find my fondest pleasure. 

Dear Lord, in serving Thee ; 
And whether Thou shalt give me 

Few days or many years, 
Help me to own and live Thee 

Until the end appears. 

OLD MAN 

I'm growing old, I feel it 

In the trembling of the limb ; 

The silver hairs reveal it — 
My sight is growing dim. 

I've gone beyond the summit ; 

I'm pressing towards the close ; 



/iRusings on tbc Ma^ 129 

How far I may be from it, 
The Father only knows. 

One thought my soul engages : 

I builded long ago 
Upon the Rock of Ages — 

I'm standing on it now ; 
And as I near the river, 

I see the parting waves ! 
O, sweeter now than ever. 

To know^ that Jesus saves ! 



^be IKHonbroue Song 

r\ WONDROUS, wondrous song of Love ! 
^^^ O, Avondrous tidings from above ! 
The Maker stoops to man's abode 
That man might find his way to God ! 
None else than heaven's seraphic throng 
Could tell the news or sing the song. 

Incarnate God ! A Saviour's birth ! 
Good will to men and Peace on earth ! 



130 /Iftusings on tbc Maif) 

The world this morn takes up the strain 
And sings Immanuers promised reign ; 
From sea to land, from land to sea, 
Floats out the Christmas melody ! 

No song e'er sung, no tale e'er told. 
Has charmed the heart of young and old. 
Like that which sang a Saviour born, 
And gave the world its Christmas morn ; 
And, — blessed thought of Christmas cheer! — 
The song-wave widens year by year. 

But they who'd catch its sweetest tone 
Must make the Angel song their own : 
They Christmas have who know and feel 
That Christ, the manger-King, is real — 
A living Presence, come to stay 
And make their lives a Christmas Day ! 

Triumphant carol of the skies ! 
The sweet, sweet song that never dies ! 
The song of childhood and of age. 
Of prince and peasant, king and page : 
And when life's sands are ebbing fast, 
The Song of Victory at last ! 



yibusinas on tbc TRfla^ 131 

^be HDaQi'e (5ift6 

\ A 7" ELL nigh two thousand years have fled, 

Since from a distance, strangely led. 
The magi found the Babe's retreat 
And bowed in worship at His feet ; 
Then sealed their worship, we are told, 
With myrrh, and frankincense, and gold — 
A Gentile hand the first to bring 
An offering to the new-born King. 

Whence came the gold, perhaps none knew. 
Nor where the fragrant perfume grew ; 
But sure it is, no gold more fine 
Was ever dug from Ophir's mine ; 
Nor since has (3rient sun and air 
Distilled a perfume half so rare, 
Save that which loving Mary poured 
Upon the head of Christ, her Lord. 

The child-king's hands, too small to lift. 
They barely toucli the magi's gift. 
But lo ! what light illumes each gem 
Touched bv the Babe of Bethlehem ! 



132 /llbusings on tbe IKaa^s 

Far down the years it sheds its ray, 
Dissolving darkness into day. 
Oh, magi's gold ! what alchemist 
E'er dreamed of such a change as this ! 

Nor did the frankincense that shed 
Its sweetness o'er the infant's bed, 
Its fragrance lose by night or day, 
But as the ages passed away 
Its hallowed sweetness filled the air. 
That man might breathe it everywhere. 
Its scented breath diffuses wide 
And sweetens now our Christmastide. 

Dear Lord, we may not bring Thee much ; 
Transmute it. Master, by Thy touch ; 
Purge out the dross of selfish thought 
With which our gifts so oft are fraught ; 
And though we cannot bring Thee gold. 
Nor frankincense like them of old, 
Take Thou our lives and let them be 
A living incense. Lord, to Thee. 



/IRusinas on tbe lUDlas 133 

Easter fIDorn 

T^HOUGH now and then the wise of earth 

Have scoffed the story of His birth, 
No skejDtic mind has yet denied 
That Jesus lived, that Jesus died ; 
But that He broke the seal of death 
And summoned back the vital breath — 
The story of the Easter morn — 
The scoffer still receives with scorn. 

How do I know that Jesus lives ? 
Well, this I know — that He forgives ; 
The giant, Sin, with subtle art, 
Long years ago usurped my heart ; 
So strong became his iron hand. 
My will was but a ro|)e of sand ; 
The chafing band I still had worn 
Had there not been an Easter morn ! 

One day a simj^le prayer I spoke : 
" O, Lord, break thou the galling yoke ! " 
And, lo ! as from a dream I woke 
And found the giant's fetters broke ; 



134 /iftusinsB on tbe Ma^ 

Could Jesus, dead, have heard my plea, 
Have loosed my bonds and set me free ? 
O, no ; I still the load had borne 
Had there not been an Easter morn. 

How do I know that Jesus is ? 
The spirit of the age is His ; 
It lives in every word and deed 
That helps a brother man in need. 
With Him who spake it crucified 
The Sermon on the Mount had died 
With all its blessed fruit unborn. 
Had there not been an Easter Morn ! 

How do I know that Jesus lives ? 
The Holy Ghost an answer gives. 
Let him who can doubt part or whole, 
I turn within and ask my soul : 
The Spirit answers to the test 
And gives the witness in my breast ; 
And, hark ! on heavenly breezes borne, 
I hear the song of Easter Morn ! 



/IRusings on tbc "Ma^ 135 

Zo a ll?outb 



T 



HOUGH Honor open wide her doors 
And offer you her highest seat ; 



Though Knowledge shoukl unlock her doors 
And lay her treasures at your feet ; 

Your labor to obtain the goal 

AVill not be worth the sacrifice, 

If, after all is o'er, your soul 

Should miss the Pearl of greatest price. 

lEpigram 

PVERY duty wrought aright 

Brings a jDleasure all its own ; 
Every love its own delight, 

And every cross its crown. 



®ne ^bougbt 

/^NE thought a day, 
^■^^ If good it be. 

May lead the way 

To heaven for thee. 



136 /iRueincjs on tbc Ma^ 

Xast Xeaf of CX)^ 'Biav^ 

F T OW swift to me the sands have run 

Since I this little book begun ; 
Line after line, page after page, 
'Tis thus from childhood up to age. 

These pages once were blank and white ; 
What I have written there each night 
If good or bad, a record bears 
In all the volume of my years. 
And what is unrecorded here 
Is written in the Book up there. 

Dear Father, hear my humble prayer : 
As I begin this morn to write 
The volume of another year, 
Oh, help me keep its pages white. 




Pi^RT III 



A^^EDDHSTG BELLS 



/IBusin^s on tbe Tlda^ 



139 




(5ol&en Belle 



TO MR. AND MRS. A. C. MICHENER, ON THEIR GOLDEN WEDDING, 
JANUARY 6, 1898 

I ONG time ago, — how long I cannot say, 

But sure no further back than Adam's day, — 
A hardy tree took root on British soil, 
Transferred, as I believe, from ancient Gaul ; 
Soon, like the far-famed tree whose branches shoot, 
And, in their turn, descend again to root. 
This growing scion early showed itself to be 
A branch well worthy of its j)arent tree ; 



140 /Iftu6ings on tbe Ma^ 

For ere the century had passed away, 
The saj)ling's name was legion, so they say. 

Of course, I could not venture here to-night 

Of all these worthy lateral lines to write ; 

Suffice, that 'bout two hundred years ago 

(Perhaps a little more — I do not know), 

One sterling twig from off the parent tree 

Was borne across the deep and rolling sea ; 

Though planted in a soil both new and strange. 

One thing there was nor soil, nor sun could change, — 

It was, the sturdy fiber of its frame, 

Which told the Anglo trunk from which it came, — 

It was, the sweet and pure religious scent 

Of which old England's soil was redolent ; 

It was, that high aspiring life within 

Which ever sought God's love and grace to win ; 

These are the things, inbred in blood and bone. 

That perish not by simple change of home. 

But if the land in which its lot be cast 
Be one congenial to its native taste ; 
A land where not alone the sun and soil 
Give fit and sure return to honest toil, 



/Iftusings on tbe Ma^ 141 

But Avhere a silent, unseen spirit broods, 

As real as are its rivers and its woods, 

Which breathes new vigor into bone and blood, 

And gives the soul an uplift towards its God, — 

In such a land and home, 'neath such a sky, 

It is not strange that, as the years passed by, 

The MiCHENER plant should thrive, and sprout, and 

grow. 
Until its thick, umbrageous branches throw 
Their sjDreading wings o'er all the land so wide. 

That manv miles their different stems divide. 

t/ 

One branch within the good old State of Penn 
Bestowed the family name — no matter when — 
Upon the one of whom to-night we boast. 
And greet him as our brother, friend and host. 
Born in the fertile, good Montgomery soil. 
Where boys as well as men know how to toil ; 
In plain, old-fashioned Quaker manners schooled. 
Where straight and rigid Orthodoxy ruled, 
'Twas early judged that, as the current ran. 
The MiCHENER boy was father to the man ; 
And thus the current of his early days 
Moved on through changing scenes and devious ways ; 



142 busings on tbe TKIla^ 

Now o'er the lea, then down the mountain side, 
And now and then through some dark gorge to hide. 
The years passed on, as the years will do, 
And the young man nears his twenty and two. 

One bright fair morn in the month of June 
The birds were singing their merriest tune ; 
No cloud was seen in the clear blue sky. 
And even the south wind hushed its sigh ; 
The green below and the blue above. 
It was just the day you'd choose for love. 

This was the kind of a morn, they say. 
That Anthony C. walked down the way — 
Walked down the lane and across the style 
('Twas only a half, but seemed a mile). 
But what do you think ! Just down the way 
A maiden stood in her gown of gray. 
As fair as the Maud that raked the hay 
When the Judge rode by that summer day ; 
But it is not Maud — the name she owns — 
That she did own then, was — Hannah Jones. 

Of all that was said that morn, 'tis well 
That only two in the house can tell ; 



busings on tbe Mas 143 

But this Ave know, had she tokl hmi nay 
I shouldn't have written this festal lay. 
The next was to say how soon their boat 
Should be rigged and launched, and set afloat. 
They both agreed an event' so great 
Were better a month too soon than late ; 
So the first month, sixth, was made the date, 
In Eighteen Hundred and Forty-Eight. 
Then to the wind, and sea, and heaven, 
The little craft and its crew were given. 

Like many a little boat before. 

It cheerih" pulled away from shore ; 

But Avas there ever a bark that tried 

The matrimonial sea to ride, 

That found smooth sailing every day — 

No counter-currents along the way ? 

If such you know of, oh, tell me where, 

For I have not found that happy pair. 

Likewise, the slender craft of which I write 
Saw many a cloudy day and stormy night; 
But in the storm, and in the cloud and dark, 
God kept his hand beneath the little bark ; 



144 /Iftusings on tbc Ma^ 

Till now, for fifty years, that same kind Hand 
Has steered it clear of rock and sinking sand. 
And so to-night we've come together here 
To give the little craft a word of cheer. 

For fifty years ! 'Tis long to look ahead, 

But oh, how short they seem when they have fled ! 

And never have the decades flown so fast 

As in the fifty years that now have passed ; 

An age that cuts the century in half, 

And spans the days of steam and telegraph ; 

Which saw the tallow-dip — that little sprite — 

Give place to Edison's electric light ; 

That pitied her who toiled for daily bread 

With stitch and stitch by bit of steel and thread, 

And gave to her a Howe machine instead ; 

An age that saw and grappled with the shame 

Of human slavery in Freedom's name ; 

An age that proudly claims the telephone. 

The phonograph, and vitascope its own ; 

Though still between old ocean stretches wide, 

Since then, as by a living tendon tied. 

The continents clasp hands each day, and greet 

Almost as friend greets friend upon the street. 



/IBusinQS on tbe IHIlais 145 

Give to the age of stone all that it claims ; 

Give to the iron age its grandest names ; 

Give to the age of brass its gilded crest, 

And give to every other age its best — 

(And much there is upon its crowded page 

Of which we're proud to claim the heritage), 

We must, withal, bestow the well-earned crown 

Upon the Golden Age we call our own. 

In whatsoever field its hand has wrought. 

Its heart has moved, its mind has turned its thought, 

There's been more love to God and man therein, 

I think, than any other age has seen. 

This, then, the age that spans our friends' career. 
As well, perha|3s, as that of others here ; 
But what's the progress of the world to him 
Who catches not its spirit and its vim ? 
Xote, then, the smile uj)on our brother's face ; 
His fair com23anion's youthful step and grace, 
And tell me if they have not in the race 
Run well their part and more than kept their j)lace. 

Upon this happy night, beneath this roof, 
This host of kindred souls gives ample proof 



146 /nbusiriQS on tbe Mai? 

That of the Michener tree and Jones's line 

There's no mimediate danger of decline, 

But signs of progress all along the line. 

Of children five, plain Jones comes JSTumber One, 

Though good for two when work is to be done ; 

Next Evan ruled the roost a little space, 

Till Howard came along and took his place ; 

He ruled so well and smoothly, it is said, 

He early showed the smoothness on his head ; 

When Howard yielded up the right of way, 

'Twas then young Charles began to have his say ; 

Next Emma came, and then that little singer 

Just ruled the house as with her little finger ; 

She fondly clung to home, this little singer, 

And clung, and clung, till she became a Clinger. 

In turn, these branches bore good lineal fruit, 
Which shows marked traces of the parent root ; 
And grandpa's joy, and good grandma's delight 
Would not be full upon this festal night, 
Without the presence of those sunny faces — 
Grandsons and daughters in their wonted places ; 
Of these, I see around a goodly throng ; 
Indeed, unless the poet's counted wrong, 



/iBusinfls on tbe Wia^ 147 

There is a baker's dozen good and strong. 

And since Ave've learned the nature of the stock, 

Let no one bar an increase of the flock ; 

Nor ever let these daughters nor these sons 

Forget that through their veins and in their bones 

Is traced the names of Michener and Jones. 

Now a word to the groom and a word to the bride, 
As well to the near ones that stand by their side ; 
The many dear friends who have come here to-night 
To join in your gladness and feast on the sight, 
Have bade me convey in this rhythmical way 
(And of course I could do nothing else than obey) 
Their greetings and wishes, their love and their joy, 
In the heartiest words that my pen could employ ; 
And so I present you, for all that are here, 
Their best, and their warmest good will and good 

cheer — 
A hearty God-speed as you start on the way. 
Towards, I trust, many happy returns of the day. 
When the last shall have come, as it must soon or 

late, 
And each in his turn passes up through the gate. 
May all of us meet on the bright Golden Shore 
In the house of our Lord to go out nevermore. 



148 



/IBusings on tbe Ma^ 




"irin&er tbe Xinben ; 

OR 

Wbat a ILittle :fiSirD SaiD 

TO REV. S. H. HOOVER, D.D., AND WIFE, ON THE OCCASION OF 
THEIR SILVER WEDDING 

TT was in the Summer's gloaming 
That I sought a quiet bower 
Where so oft in idly roaming 

I had whiled away an hour. 
There the little birds were singing 

As they fluttered round their nest, 
And the rustling leaves were bringing 

Cooling breezes from the west. 



busings on tbc iwaai^ 149 

There the buttercup Avas bending 

To the bhie-bell in the nook, 
And the linden-tree was sending 

DoAvn a message to the brook. 
Then the little brooklet, dancing. 

Hastened on as if at play ; 
But I saw it upward glancing 

In a most coquettish way. 



To the voices in tlie Avoodland 

I had listened oft before. 
And a message from the goodland 

They had brought me o'er and o'er ; 
But I never saw the linden 

Bowing quite so low to hear. 
Nor the buttercup a-bending 

Quite so near the blue-bell's ear. 

And I said, within my bower, 

" Will they let the secret out — 

Will the little bird and flower 

Tell me what they talk about ? " 

" Now, you do us wrong to doubt it," 
Said a little twittering elf, 



150 /iftusluGS on tbe Mai3 

" For I'll tell you all about it 

If you'll keep it to yourself." 

Then the little tell-tale chattered, 

In a way that tell-tales do, 
Highly pleased, I thought, and flattered, 

That I listened to him through ; 
So I should not think it mattered 

If I told the same to you. 

" It was in this quiet Aden," 

Said the little bird, "you know, 

When the linden tree was laden 

With its blossoms, bending low. 

That I watched a little maiden 
In the happy long ago. 

" The wild flowers smiled to greet her, 
When they knew her step was near ; 

E'en the little birds sang sweeter. 

And the brooklet seemed more clear ; 

Oh, the hours passed the fleeter 

When the little maid was here. 



^usinss on tbe iMn^ i5i 

"But one day there walked another 

Bv the little woman's side ; 
He was something more than brother, 

For the hapjoy maid replied, 
* I shall have to see my mother 

Ere the question I decide.' 

" Then each little feathered ranger 

Stole away into its nest; 
We were angry with the stranger 

For his mission we had guessed, 
And we knew there lurked a danger 

In the question he had pressed. 

" In the morning, blithe and lighter 

Than her step had ever been. 
With her blue eyes sparkling brighter 

Than the dew drops on the green. 
Ere we saw or could invite her. 

In there stepped our little queen. 

" ^Oh, you birdies, let me tell you,' 
And Ave heard the maiden call ; 



152 /IRueinQB on tbc Ma^ 

' I have something that will thrill you,' 
Then the little maid grew tall ; 

' But you'll never tell it, will you ?' 
And we promised, one and all. 

'' ' Oh, I cannot tell what made him, 

But he would not be denied, 
And my heart could not dissuade him 

When he pressed me to his side ; 
So I promised I would wed him 

In the early autumn tide.' 

'^ With a heart a-bubbling over 

Did she tell the story o'er ; 
Then she plucked a four-leaf clover. 

And a sweet-breathed linden flower. 
Which I knew were for her lover — 

And we never saw her more. 

'^ But one autumn day, while swinging 

In my hammock by the rill. 
First I heard a ting-a-linging, 

Then a merry silver trill ; 
And I knew the bells were ringing 

For the little maid's ' I will.' 



^usin05 on tbc TDCla^ 153 

" That was — let me count tliem over — 
Five and twenty years ! 'tis true ; 

Every little winged rover 

Which the happy maiden knew, 

Lies beneath the ferns and clover, 
Save the one that sings to you. 

" AVhat about the maid and lover ? 

Were there ever tidings brought ? 
Do you think the robins hover 

In among the eaves for naught ? 
I could many things uncover, 

But I do not think I ought. 

*' Like a ship's uncertain homing, 

Like a comet out in space ; 
LTp and down the land a-roaming 

Seeking an abiding place ; 
Ever going, ever coming — 

Their abode was hard to trace. 

" Fleeter than a pastor's flitting 
Is a little robin's wing ; 



154 /IBustna^ on tbe IKIta^ 

And IVe folio vved every sitting 

Of the preachers in the spring, 

Wondering where the wheel in shifting 
Would my little lady fling. 

" But whichever way they bounded,. 

To the east or to the west ; 
If with country air surrounded, 

Or with city water blest, 
No complaining word was sounded — 

It was always for the best. 

" Five-and-twenty years together ! 

Every season I recall ; 
Life was not a buoyant feather, 

Nor were all its years a pall ; 
But some dark and cloudy weather 

Is appointed unto all. 

'' Oh, the path of life is narrow. 

And with thorns is overlaid, 
But beyond the bitter Marah 

There is Elim's cooling shade. 
And for every cruel arrow 

God an antidote has made. 



/Iftusinss on tbe "Waa^ 155 

" Thus the years have glided over, 

Through the flood and ebbing tide ; 

Long ago the four-leafed clover 
And the linden blossom died ; 

But her Hubbard's still a lover, 
And Augusta still a bride. 

" And the family tree now measures. 
Since the Avedded years begun, 

Daughter Helen — mamma's treasures, 
Carl and Mitchell, full of fun ; 

These the centre of their pleasures — 
Blessings on them every one. 

" Still the birds in wood and heather 

Sing and tell about the day 
When the man and maid together. 

Walking through the wooded way. 
Talked about the trees and weather. 

And what else I need not say. 

'' Every year, this day, when wending 
Through the woodland, if you look, 



156 



/IftusinQS on tbe 'M^^ 



You will see the linden sending 
Down a message to the brook, 

And the buttercup a-bending 

To the blue bells in the nook. 



'' What they whisper I have told you, 
But you promised not to tell ; 

If you do, I'll surely scold you 

When I catch you in the dell ; 

To this promise, mind, I hold you — " 

And the bird sang — " Fare-you-well !" 



/IBusinas on tbe Mas 



157 



jeinatban'6 Mooing 

A WYOMING LOVE TALE 

TO MR. AND MRS. E. P. LEAR ON THE OCCASION OF THEIR 
SILVER WEDDING 

OIERRA'S ranges teem with gold 
A vast and shining store, 

And Colorado's mountains hold 
Rich veins of sterling ore ; 

But richer is the Avealth that fills 

Old Pennsylvania's noble hills ; 

The native warmth which dwells within 
Their rugged bosom is akin 
To that warm-heartedness and zeal 
Which all her sons and daughters feel. 

A Burns may write and sing the praise 
Of Caledonia's '' banks and braes," 
And Moore may touch his sweetest chord 
To sound Killarney's name abroad ; 
Let Art and Poesy combine 
To paint the beauties of the Rhine, 
Or Master's skill portray our own 
Yosemite and YelloAVstone. 




158 



^uelriQS on tbe "Ma^ 




He whom the Muse would so incline, 
Be his such task — it is not mine ; 
At least not now, — 'tis mine to-night 
Upon a hapjDier theme to write, 
" But how the subject-theme may gang 
Let time and chance determine ; 

Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 
Perhaps turn out a sermon." 

The tale I tell is one as old 

As Love's impassioned flame ; 
And yet it never has been told 
To timid maid or lover bold, 
W^I^J By aiiy two the same. 

^j Love throws her shuttle artfully 

While weaving Hymen's strands, 
But coarse or fine the web will be. 
According to the threads which we 
May put into her hands. 



She weaves not damask silk from tow, 

Nor wool from cotton chain, 
No more than does the farmer sow 



^usinas on tbe Ma^ 159 

Rank tares, and then expect to grow 
A field of golden grain. 

But put into the nuptial bands 

A good and honest woof, 
And some day she'll return the strands 
A web of beauty to your hands — 

As we to-night have proof. 

None fairer than Wyoming's vales 

And few, indeed, to mate ; 
None cooler than her mountain rills, 
None richer than her diamond hills 

In all the Keystone State. 

Nor will you find a spot elsewhere 

Where warmer hearts abide ; 
Where hands are readier to share 
A j)ortion of their scanty fare — 

The half-loaf to divide. 

Such was the scene, and such the parts 

My story brings to view ; 
A modest tale of modest hearts. 



160 busings on tbe iMa^ 

Unpolished by the poet's arts, 
But simply told to you. 

The wind blew fierce with snow and sleet 

A dreary, wild expansion ; 
But coals were crackling in the grate 
Before which man and maiden sate — 

Within the Morgan mansion. 

A half-toned smile, in manner mild. 

Played round the young man's lips ; 

But though the maiden's heart beat wild, 

Her head refused to be beguiled 
By any phantom ships. 

O, long-sought goal ! so near at hand, 

So near and yet so far ; 
Like yonder bark upon the sand. 
With wind and wave at its command. 

But not a moving spar. 

To woo and win ! What task more glad ! 

What sweeter joy than this ! 
(But in parenthesis I add, 



/ICmsinfls on tbe "UUas 161 

Of all siul tasks there's none more sad, 
Than wooing bnt to miss). 

Though cohl without, I said, and rude. 

Within 'twas sunny w^eather. 
Where, shyly as the timid brood 
That nestles 'neath the underwood. 

Sat man and maid together. 

The distant whistle, long and shrill. 

Gave warning of the hour ; 
The crackling coals cracked louder still ; 
xlnd yet the maiden showed no will 

To share Elnathan's bower. 

In neither love nor war retreat 

Until the battle's fought ; 
One hour may turn the tide complete, 
And wrest a vict'ry from defeat — 

So young Elnathan thought. 

Do other lovers court success 

And do the Fates forbid it ? 
O ye who woo and cannot press 



162 /llbusings on tbe Ma^ 

The maiden into " no " or " yes," 
Hear how Elnathan did it ! 

" Once more, and then I rest my case," 
Elnathan said ; "I'll try her ; " 

As, with a new smile on his face. 

He rose from his accustomed place 
And gazed into the fire. 

Then musingly, as if he read 

Some mystic meaning in it, 
" Oh, live red coals, I wish," he said, 
" That from your glowing urnal bed 

You could but S23eak this minute. 

*' When taken from your mountain hold, 

A passer-by might view you. 
And, if a stranger to the wold, 
Would think you cheerless, dull and cold. 

Until he better knew you. 

*' As lurks the lightning in the cloud. 

The rainbow in the shower. 
The bone and sinew in the blood. 



^usinfls on tbe ma^ 163 



The scented blossom in the bud, 
The fruitage in the ilower,- 



" So, in your dark recesses deep, 

Sunbeams of joy and comfort sleep, 

Which only need a kindling blaze 

Their slumbering energies to raise. 

And as their genial beams beguile 

And cheer the hearthstone with their smile, 

I sit and think, and dream the while. 

'' What are my thoughts, and what my dreams ? 
Why, this my thought : to me it seems 
That ye, once dull, now sparkling coals. 
Are very much like human souls ; 
We see the man, but do not know 
What slumbering embers lie below. 
Till touched by some enkindling brands 
They wake to life and break their bands. 

'' Then leaps the heart, once dull and tame. 

Into an all-consuming flame ; 

And as I sit within your glow 

And watch your life-tide ebbing low, 

Warming, cheering, while you can. 



164 /iRusinas on tbe Ma^ 

Then dying for the needs of man, 
I wish my own heart had its vent, 
How gladly would its life be spent 
In thought and labor all day long 
To make her life a June day song. 

^' The cattle on a thousand hills, 
The gold that packs the banker's tills, 
The wealth that field and mine confer. 
It is not mine to offer her. 
Eut what should piles of gold avail 
When Winter's biting blasts assail ? 
His ghoulish glee could not be told 
Did we attempt to break his hold. 
Or tame his breath, with burning gold. 

''' Sometimes, also, the heart's lone vale 
Is swept by some unfeeling gale. 
Against whose sting and secret pain 
The potency of gold is vain ; 
It needs the softer touch and tone ; 
It needs a hand to clasp its own ; 
It needs the word of love and cheer ; 
It needs the sympathetic tear. 



^usinas on tbc "Ma^ • 165 

" Would God have made the shining sun 
Were there no worlds to sliine upon ; 
Or given the rose or lily room, 
Were there no eyes to see it bloom ? 
Or you, ye smiling coals, would He 
Have formed your beds, then set you free. 
And made you master of the storm, 
Had there not been some homes to warm ? 

" If not, why should He touch my heart, 

As by a Moses' rod, and start 

The fire of my soul aburning. 

And yet the object of my yearning, — ' 

The one I long to have and bless. 

Refuse to answer no or yes ! 

Ah, Avell, from you, live coals, I'll learn " — 

Here the maiden raised her lashes— 
" To let the heart-coals burn and burn. 

And burn away to ashes." 

Love laughs at reason, but is weak 
Before a heart that's bleeding ; 

So when Elnathan ceased to speak. 
He found the maiden weeping. 



166 ^' /Iftusinee on tbe Ma^ 

O, happy tears ! They mean success 

Within the passing minute ; 
For Ettie then and there said yes, 

And all her heart was in it. 

The coals cracked louder in the grate ; 

The wild winds blew their greeting ; 
But wilder in its blissful state 

Elnathan's heart was beating. 

Of course, as was the proper thing. 

They lived, and loved and waited. 

Until one early day in Spring, 

When, like the birds, they mated. 

They mated ! 'Tis a better word 
Than I had thought of using ; 

For many an altar vow is heard. 

Where wedding is but choosing. 

But whether with or 'gainst the tide. 

In bright or cloudy weather, 
Elnathan and his sunny bride 

Have pulled their oars together. 



/Dbusin^s on tbc lima^ 167 

And were the silver bells alive, 

They'd sing in merry measure, 

And tell of one score years and five 
Of wedded bliss and pleasure. 

Nor has Elnathan e'er forgot 

His heart-thought and desire, 
That evening when he read his lot 

From out the glowing fire. 

Gold winds sometimes have beat around 
And many a day been dreary ; 

But sunshine still within was found, — 
The hearthstone always cheery; — 

The latch-string out for anyone, 

A welcome, too, behind it ; 
And they who came for help, — or fun. 

Were ahvays sure to find it. 

And oft does Ettie sit and sit. 

And wonder what was in it. 
That made Elnathan's happy hit 

Upon that fateful minute. 



168 /iftuginQS on tbe Mais 



But mem'ry makes the spot more dear — 
They call it now their Bethel, 

And tell the story every year 
To happy Roy and Ethel. 

To write the past's an easy thing ; 

But neither priest nor poet 
Can turn his horoscope and bring 

The future up and show it. 

I only can extend my hand, 

My wishes and my prayers, 

That He who tied the nuptial band 
May spare it many years, — 

And that the old-time warmth and glow 
May ever keep its brightness ; 

And when the winds of sorrow blow, 
Oh, may they blow in lightness. 

And now, my little tale is done ; 

I herewith hand it to you, — 
A simjile tribute sent from one 

Who's glad he ever knew you. 



P^RT IV 



JVIISCELLi^ISTEOXIS 




/Bbusings on tbc Maig 171 

ITbe IRultng paeeione 

HE motives that incite the human race 
Vary as the habihments that grace 
Each individual form, though oft unseen 
Through oily words and counterfeited mien. 
In some, the spur that thus incites their will 
Is born of circumstances good or ill ; 
Events that in themselves were little worth 
Have shaped men's lives and given birth 
To thoughts of rankling hate, or deeds of crime 
That else had never blurred the book of Time ; 
LikcAvise, a kindly word, the falling tear, 
The utterance of Passion's lips — the ear 
Of generations yet unborn may hear. 

In most, the motives that usurp control 
Are wedded, like the body, to the soul, 
And only cease to act, if cease they do, 
When Death, the arbiter, divides the two. 

To say that many passions that imj^el 

Men's deeds are pure and heaven-born, is well ; 

Alas ! how true that many others dwell 



172 /IRusings on tbe *Mai2 

In human breasts that were conceived in hell ! 

But come these inclinations whence they may — 

By haps, or inbred with our native clay, 

If good or bad, a blessing or a ban, 

They stamp, identify and make the man — 

ShajDC every act, absorb his mind, and bend 

All minor actions to subserve their end. 

As instance the Miser, with heart as cold 

And soul more cankered than his heaps of gold ; 

How every energy of heart and brain 

Is strained to minister to greedy gain ! 

To add one dollar to his hoarded store 

He'd kiss his bitter foe and bow before ; 

He laughs — but only counting o'er his coin ; 

And weeps — if counting show one dollar gone ; 

All estimate of pleasure, grief or j)ain. 

Is made upon the scale of " loss and gain." 

Or, witness him who aims with Glory's pen 

To write a name above his fellow-men ; 

How oft its gilded point is tarnished o'er 

By widows' tears, or " dipped in murder's gore ! " 

He loves, when Love gives luster to his name ; 



/Iftusliifls on tbc TiClas 173 

He hates, if Hate will feed Ambition's flame, 

And vice and virtue are but cloaks to him 

That may be worn when suits his passion's whim ; 

Or e'en, Naj^oleon like, he's nothing loth 

To mock high heaven with a broken oath. 

And having gained the summit of renown. 

In dreary Alexandrine mood look down 

Where shattered hearts as well as worlds abound, 

And sigh that Fame has not another round ! 

The Sensualist will scarce forsake his way 
Though embassies of saints be sent to pray ; 
Xor can Position lure, nor Love entice 
The wretched one from his accustomed vice ; 
Affection cannot charm, nor Mind dissuade 
The Gamester from his soul-absorbing trade ; 
Xot void of higher thoughts, yet less intense, 
The nobler j)assions drown in that of Sense. 

Or, moved by nobler aspirations, see 
A man of Science, a Nature's devotee. 
Who all his j)recious years will gladly spend 
To read her laws aright and comprehend. 
If once in him a new idea's born. 



174 /Iftusings on tbe Mai? 

He'll prove it if it be through years of scorn ; 

For years amid a jeering multitude 

A humble Genoese in patience stood, 

But triumph came at last, when Faith caressed 

The wide and unknown region of the West. 

Without a friend, undaunted and alone. 

Though all Philosophy oppose his own. 

The young, brave Galileo stands like stone ! 

Had poverty or social disrepute 

Deterred brave Jenner from his life pursuit. 

Science had lost a name deserving of a place 

Among the benefactors of our race. 

Had disappointment turned them from their course, 

A Stephenson, a Fulton, Faust and Morse 

Had been to us unknown ; and Field had planned 

In vain his continent-connecting band ; 

A Phidias' chisel had not cut his name 

Upon the tablet of immortal Fame, 

Nor Raphael's dextrous hand e'er learned to trace 

Dame Nature's face with such enchanting grace. 

Or, seek the Student o'er his volume bent. 

And ask why thus his years of life are spent : 

By thirst of wealth, or high position led ? 



^U5in00 on tbc Wia^ 175 

Seeks lie a naiiie to live when he is dead ? 

Although 'tAvere mortal thus to wish, indeed, 

His soul does not on such desires feed, — 

He seeks his books but for his soul's delight, 

And drinks to sate an inborn appetite ! 

What moves the Gospel Messenger who stands 

The herald of the Cross in heathen lands ? 

If riches or a name, then few, indeed, 

Have yet inherited the precious meed ; 

But, no : 'tis no such selfish end controls 

The man — 'tis love for God and human souls. 

And thus might I survey humanity 

Through all its grades — from prince to peasantry : 

We find a motive powder within the man 

That turns his thoughts, develops every plan : 

Perhaps authority may check its force. 

Or counter-wave divert it from its course ; 

But, as the bow will take its former bent. 

Soon as the arrow on its way is sent. 

The smoldering embers, though long confined. 

Light to a flame upon the slightest wind, 

So where, unhindered, man pursues his way. 

The Ruling Passion will assert her sway ; 



176 



/iftusiriQS on tbe Mai^ 



Will lead him up by many a winding flight 
To Fame's high pinnacle or Glory's height ; 
Through Study's gate to fields of richest lore 
Oft visited in lone day-dreams before ; 
Perchance, to some sweet Love-enchanted place, 
Or dallv him in Pleasure's soft embrace. 



When deep within us those powers prevail 
That tend to lower us in Manhood's scale, 
No hope for him who leans on human source 
For aid to check or tarn their destined course 




As well attempt to check old Ocean's tide 
Or turn the furious hurricane aside ; 



^usin^s on tbe lima^ 177 

iVs well the Etliiope change his skin, as man, 
By moral force, keep Passion under ban : 
By Him alone can such a work be wTOught 
Who knows the man and reads the inmost thought ; 
And He, if asked, will break, or grace impart 
To turn the evil current of the heart. 

O, let us, then, who feel impelled towards wrong 
By powders within unconquerably strong. 
Seek freedom in the Law of Him whose blood 
Was shed to bring the worldling back to God ! 



^be ^(be to fortune 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, 

Whicli, taken at tlie flood, leads on to fortune. 

—Shakespeare. 

\\TTTIl faith in thee. Immortal Bard, 

I've labored long and labored hard, 
And w^atched and waited many a day, 
To see the jDroof of what you say ; 
But Avheresoe'er I turn my eye. 
Above, below, in earth or sky, 



178 /Iftusings on tbe iraia^ 

There's not a sign on either side 
That bodes the coming of the tide. 

That now and then, 'tis very true, 
A circumstantial wave or two 
Arose upon life's even sea, 
But every time to carry me 
Much farther off from fortune's shore 
Than I had ever been before ; 
Or, if betimes, a prosperous tide. 
The waves were sure to soon subside. 

O, Shakespeare ! had you told us luhen 
This " tide in the affairs of men " 
Would cross our way, and how to know 
It would not ebb instead of flow, 
Or when 'twas neap instead of spring, 
You then had done a blessed thing, 
And not, like witches did Macbeth, 
Deluded mortals unto death. 



/iBusinQS on tbe lllfla^ 179 

^0 tbe Snow*=]flahc6 

CALL thick and fast, O, little flakes, 

And cover mountain, hill and lea ; 
It is thy presence here that makes 

All that winter ought to be. 
No sad or dreary thoughts you bring, 

As doth tlie melancholy blast ; 
A hundred welcomes then, we sing, 

Fall thick and fast ! Fall thick and fast ! 

A hundred little hands are out 

To catch you as you're Hying past ; 
A hundred merry voices shout. 

Fall thick and fast ! Fall thick and fast! 
I love their fun ! I love their din, 

I like to hear the merry shout. 
While all the village belles within 

Are w^aiting for the bells without. 

Fall thick and fast ! The old in years 
Are watching at the window light, 

Who, ere another snow appears 

May j^jass forever from our sight ; 



180 /lRusins6 on tbe ma^ 

Intent they watch and anon seem 

To live again the age that's past ! 

O, wake them not, but while they dream 

Fall thick and fast ! Fall thick and fast ! 



Critlciem 

2ln ®ID Storis in a IRew 2)res9 

IT happened on a certain date, 

The natives of the wood 
Had come together to debate 

Upon the general good ; 
And as it chanced, upon that day, 

A lamb had lost its road. 
Which, searching for its homeward way, 

Fell in upon the crowd. 

The innocent but luckless lamb 

Was such a novel brute, 
That soon its personage became 

The subject of dispute. 
The goat was first to speak and said : 

" I cannot much condemn. 



/Iftu6in05 on tbc Wa^ i8i 

The beast has got a pretty head 
And finely finished limb." 

" Pooh ! " said the lion : "too absurd ; 

A pretty beast I own ; 
But such a voice I never heard — 

It's but an infant's tone." 
" Nay," said the deer, " his voice, at least, 

Is not a butt for fun ; 
I thought the thing a goodly beast 

Until I saw him run." 

" Quite true," the tiger said ; '' and more, 

What can he do, pray tell. 
He cannot run, he cannot roar — 

He can do nothing well ; 
He's altogether bad, and why ? 

He's of that silly class 
Who never dine on meat like I, 

But nibble only grass." 

Thus all in turn the lamb surveyed 

With criticising gaze ; 
The less the beast was like them made, 

The lighter was their praise. 



182 /Iftusings on tbe ma^ 

And yet the lamb was very good, 

More useful, too, we know, 
Than many natives of the wood 

With more pretentious show. 

MORAL. 

Most critics of the human kind 

Act on this very plan ; 
Lay bare whatever faults they find. 

Hide all the good they can. 
A measure of themselves is made, 

And things are right or wrong, 
Precisely as their tinge or shade 

Unto themselves belong. 



.5t 



temperance Song 

/^^OME, rally round our standard, boys, 
^^ The fountain sweet and free, 
Where blooming health and honest wealth 

Are waiting you and me. 
We'll shun the rosy goblet, boys. 

That holds the cunning wine ; 



/IBusinas on tbe Ma^ 183. 

It carries death upon its breath 
And never shall be mine. 

Then gather round our standard, boys, 

The fountain sweet and free. 
Where age and youth, in Love and Truth, 

Have fullest liberty ; 
And where the will has power still 

To lead and to control. 
And liberty secures to thee 

The freedom of the soul. 

Yes, gather to the fountain, boys. 

Beneath the Temperance tree. 
And we shall sup from a golden cup 

The nectar of the free ; 
'Tis crystal clear without a germ 

Of misery or sin ; 
No blanched cheek shall e'er bespeak 

Of bitter dregs within. 

Drink freely at the fountain, boys ! 

See how it sparkles clear ! 
Come ! honest wealth and blooming health 

And haj^piness are here. 



184 /iRueings on tbe Mai2 

'Tis better than the goblet, boys, 

That holds the ruddy wine. 
Which carries death upon its breath, 

And never shall be mine. 



®nl? a Smile 



TO S. J. N 



A/[ Y dearest friend, as I to thee 

This simple tribute proffer. 
Extend the hand I oft have clasped 

And take the kindly offer. 
I shall not stay to hear thy thanks, 

But be well paid the while. 
If thou wilt give in recompense 

A simple, loving smile. 

When words, the best, at times seem weak. 

Our meaning to convey, 
A simple smile will often speak 

Just what the heart would say. 
If thou wouldst know how much, my dear. 

It does the heart beguile. 



^usinfls on tbc "Ma^^ J 85 

Thou need'st but turu and give just here, 
To him who speaks, thy smile. 

Oh, never may it, dearest friend. 

Though wintry days apj)ear. 
Be thine to feel the frosts that tend 

To chill a love sincere ; 
And if thou wouldst illume thy place 

With sunshine all the while, 
Keep ready in thy heart and face 

This same sweet, loving smile. 



Xinee 

TO S. H. H., ON HIS BIRTHDAY 

T^O-DAY brings your birthday, dear Doctor, I 

learn, 
And I give you my hand on its haj^py return ; 
May there be many more, and as oft as they come 
Bring a blessing to you and the loved ones at home. 

I've heard of a tree in the far eastern clime 
That never grows old by the touches of time ; 



3 86 /Iftusinas on tbe Mais 

Its leaf withers not as the ages pass o'er, 

And its fruit is as sweet as the first that it bore. 

I know of a friend very dear to ray heart 
Who carries his age with an exquisite art ; 
How rapid the years of his pilgrimage steal, 
The locks that have vanished will uever reveal. 

The locks that are left him are tingeing with gray. 
And sometimes I think Father Time is at play ; 
But then, in a moment, his quick flashing eye 
Dispels the illusion and gives it the lie. 

On the lines of his genial and good-looking face 

Time's fingers can leave but a shadowy trace ; 

So were I to guess, by the signs that I see, 

Of the age of my friend, I should say — thirty-three. 



jfllbusinQS on tbc Wia^ 187 

1Rcw lJ)ear'6 Eve 

DRAY, can you tell 
^ AVhy shot and bell 
Should always give the year farewell ? 
Why must we hear, 
As dies the year. 
This self-same requiem o'er his bier ? 

What has he done. 

That every one 
Is at his heels with loaded gun ? 

Has he not brought 

The joy he ought, 
And was his stay wdth sorrow fraught ? 

Are you afraid, 

While he lingers, 
He might trace with phantom fingers 

Some hidden deed 

You'd blush to read 
And wish the year would keep its dead ? 

Pray, don't you know 
AVith what a din, 



188 /iftusiriQS on tbe Ma^ 

A year ago, you rang him in ? 

And 'mid the chimes 

What happy times 
You " pictured in prophetic rhymes ? " 

And now, forsooth, 

What then did seem 
A 23leasing truth, you find a dream ? 

And that the year, 

With toil and care. 
Did naught but disappointment bear? 

Blame not the year. 

For at his birth 
He warned thee of his sacred worth ; 

The time that's flown 

Was all thine own. 
And thou hast reaped as thou hast sown. 



/nbusmos on tbe llClais 189 

IBo'^e' Iboliba^ Song 

A holiday ! A holiday ! 

O, pass the word around, boys ! 
And let the song he quick and strong — 
There's music in the sound, boys ! 

Then pack your books and clear the hooks, 

O, sj^read it wide and far, O ! 

And tell the mountains and the brooks 

We'll be on hand to-morrow ! 

These holidays are very few. 

Much fewer than we like, sir ; 
How would it do for us and you 
To get more by a strike, sir ? 

But pack your books and clear the hooks, 

And do not trouble borrow ! 
We'll talk about the next one, boys. 
When we have spent to-morrow ! 

We're neither lazy, dull nor slow, 

Nor have we time to fritter ; 
But then too long a draught, you know, 

Will make the sweetest l)itter. 



190 /Iftusinas on tbe Mais 

Then pack your books and clear the hooks ! 

But listen to the warning : 
A double mark for every one 

That isn't here next morning. 

Thanks be to him who, from his chair 

Of high official station, 
Gives us a day to run and play 
By legal proclamation ! 

Then pack your books and clear the hooks ! 

O, spread it wide and far, O ! 

x\nd tell the mountains and the brooks 

We'll be on hand to-morrow ! 

When I grow up and take his pen. 
My first decree shall be, boys, 
A holiday in every ten. 

And school hours only three, boys ! 

But pack your books and clear the hooks ! 

And do not stojD to sorrow ! 
Though we obey the laws to-day, 

We'll make our own to-morrow ! 



/Hbusinas on tbc Win^ 191 

Zo Corinne 

ON THE PRESENTATION OF A GOLD'C. E." PENDANT 

T^HE little gift I hand you here 

Is not of much intrinsic worth, 
But in it I discern, my dear, 

A fit memento of your birth. 
The monogram it bears is now 

An honored badge in every zone ; 
But long before the " C. E." yow% 

These same initials were your ow^n. 

Though small the gift, 'tis free from dross ; 

Xor does the artisan's design 
Xeed any artificial gloss 

To give it worth, or help it shine ; 
Likewise, when God shall take the heart 

And purge it from the dross of sin. 
It shall not need the touch of art 

To show the Christian grace within. 

A caution here, I note with care. 

Which points a luoral, too, within : 

Whenever you the badge shall wear 
Be sure and tightly clasp the pin ; 



192 /iRusinas on tbe TKIlai3 

As with the emblem, so with those 

Who link their lives to Jesus' own ; 

Their hand in his they need to close 
Nor try to walk the road alone. 

Wear, then, the little monogram, 

And as it glistens in the light. 
Its silent story of the Lamb 

May touch some wand'rer of the night. 
The badge may break — some day it will ; 

But never will the gold decay ; 
E'en so, the worker dies, but still 

The work goes on from day to day. 



flDl? Cbilbboob Home 

T ONG years have passed since last I stood 

Within this well-remembered wood ; 
For wood it was, and little more. 
When I, a boy, was here before. 

But no familiar sights I see 

That bring the old days back to me ; 



/IRusinas on tbc Maig 193 

I look around, but cannot trace 
A friendly hand or smiling face. 

I seek the drooping willow tree 
Whose boughs so oft had sheltered me ; 
It is not here ; the old oak, too, 
Has Mien by the woodman's blow. 

I look to see the dear old sj)ot 
Where I was born ; it, too, is not ; 
It was not much, for I recall 
The j)ebbled roof and old stone wall. 

But it was home ; and I have not. 
In all my wand'rings, found a spot 
To me so dear as that sweet place 
Where still I see my mother's face. 

One day, not long before she died. 
My mother called me to her side, 
And, as her custom was, she took 
From off the shelf her well-worn Book. 

We walked together to the brook. 
Where, seeking her accustomed nook, 



194 /iRusttiQS on tbe Ma^ 

She sat upon the soft green sod 
And read to me the Word of God. 

I've traveled far and wide since then, 
And seen the good and bad in men ; 
But I have kept in memory dear 
The words my mother read me here. 

How glad I am, O little brook. 
That I at least on thee can look ; 
But thou dost see more change in me, 
I ween, than I can see in thee. 

Dost thou recall the idle hour 
I flung to thee the wild pink flower. 
And, childlike, as I set it free, 
I begged thee, give it back to me ? 

Upon that hour I flung to thee 
The most of life's sweet fragrancy ; 
Still, childlike, for my flowers I yearn, 
But call in vain for their return. 



/Iftusin^^s on tbe Ma^ 195 

Zbc movl^ Moul& IProfit m Ht 

IF men Avould preach the Word, forsooth, 

As in the Book they found it, 
And not evade the printed truth 

By preaching all around it, 
Though some, perhaps, it might offend, 

And some would misapj)ly it. 
The world, I think, would in the end. 

Be much the better by it. 

If editors had spunk enough, 

(A virtue some inherit,) 
To give to all who ask a puff 

Exactly what they merit, 
Or, where they cannot justly praise, 

If they would just keep quiet. 
The world would profit, some one says, 

And be the better by it. 

If honesty and worth were made 

The test at our elections, 
Regardless of a candidate's 

Political connections, 



196 TIRusinQS on tbe Wim 

Though demagogues would badly fare, 

And every rogae deplore it, 
The poor " dear people " everywhere 

Would be the better for it. 

If men drank more of Adam's ale, 

And fewer dramshop doses, 
They'd have more color in their cheeks. 

And less upon their noses. 
If men cared less for social clubs, 

I venture to conjecture. 
They'd save some ugly family rubs 

And many a curtain lecture. 

If boys just half-way through their teens. 

Were not such perfect Solons, 
To think their little pates contain 

More brains than Hume's or Rollins' : 
But would some older counsel take 

And rigidly apply it. 
Much wiser men we know they'd make 

And be the better by it. 

If some young men who seem afraid 
To soil their hands with labor. 



/IRusinfls on tbe Tliaaig 19- 

Would learn that haiiiiner, pick and spade, 

Are nobler than the saber, 
And shun not any honest work 

That yields them clothes and diet : 
We know that Christian, Jew or Turk, 

Would be the better by it. 

If women who go bobbing round. 

And talk of human progress : 
That in a year or two they're bound 

To vote and go to Congress, 
Would let such silly stuff alone. 

And evermore ignore it. 
Their husbands, if no other one. 

Would be the better for it. 



^0 Hmabel 

'T^HE autograj^h, my friend, you claim, 

Is but a bard's unknown to fame, 
Who sometimes whiles away an hour 
Reclining in the Muses' bower. 



198 /IftusinQS on tbe Mai2 

But think not that a poet's eyes, 
Are turned forever toward the skies, 
The waving fields, the laughing streams. 
Or e'en the hues of Fancy's dreams. 

Believe me, dear, a moment's glance 
From eyes like thine, would more entrance 
A poet's thoughts, than fairest scene 
Of Alpine hills of snow or green. 

That he on whom that glance shall rest 
In Love's sweet smile, may be the best 
Among the many at thy shrine, 
Must be the prayer of Truly Thine. 



®ver Ht Xaet 

JT is over at last. 
It is over at last ; 

The clouds have dejoarted 
The ordeal is passed — 

The work of the sword 

And the bayonet done ! 



/IBusinas on tbe Ma^ 199 

It is over at last, 

And the nation is one ! 

It is over at last ! 

Not a stripe nor a star 
Has been blotted or dimmed 

By the blasts of the war. 
With luster still brighter, 

More glorious they wave 
" O'er the land of the free 

And the home of the brave." 

The lesson was fearful ! 

We learned, when too late, 
Of the life-blood uniting 

Each sovereign state ; 
But it's over at last, 

And in victory's glow 
We shall weep for the dead 

Of the friend and the foe. 

It is over at last ! 

May it early be found 
That love and forbearance 

Has healed every wound ; 



200 /IRusinss on tbe Ma^ 

And together as brothers 

We'll march at the call 
To a future that's bright 

With a glory for all. 



^be ®I& ant) tbe IRew* 

T~\EAE. friends, I think 'tis meet and right, 

■^^^ On this auspicious day, 

That we, the boys and girls, so bright, 

Should have a word to say ; 
And so, in their behalf, I come. 

To kindly thank our Board 
For building us this pleasant home 

Out here in Haverford. 



And yet, the old familiar spots 

Where we have played for years. 

Bring up some very pleasant though ts- 
Perhaps to some bring tears. 



* Written for, and recited by, Miss Marion Moore, on the occasion of the dedica- 
tion of a new school-house at Manoa, Haverford district, Delaware county. Pa. 



/IRusln^s on tbe Wa^ 201 

Not Ave alone, but some of you 

Have studied there and played, 
In days when Birch was monarch true 

Of all that he surveyed. 

These were the good old days, they say ; 

But it is very strange. 
That they who liked the good old way 

Should want to have a change. 
If old-time things were half as good 

As they would have it known, 
Why did they not, as wise men should, 

Let good enough alone ? 

Oh, no ; though very wise and good. 

Our fathers never thought 
The world knew all it ever would. 

Or ever could, or ought. 
They did the best with what they had. 

But watched for something new ; 
And when it came along, were glad 

To vote to put it through. 

And so, while some few townships slept 
Or moved with tortoise pace. 



202 /iRusitiQs on tbe ma^ 

Old Haverford has always kept 

A front and leading place. 
We take another step to-day, 

All honor to our Board ; 
And every boy and girl will say, 

" Hurrah for Haverford ! " 

We thank you kindly one and all — 

The Board who had the will, 
As well as them on whom they'll call 

To foot the little bill. 
'^ But will it pay ? " some one will say ; 

Just wait a month or two. 
Till we get fairly on the way. 

And then we'll talk to you. 

A word to you before this ends, 

Dear scholars, every one ; 
Let's do our best to show our friends 

The good work they have done. 
When comes our turn to legislate 

And sit upon the Board, 
The finest school-house in the State 

Shall be in Haverford. 



/Bbusin^s on tbe "Mais 203 

H IDoicc ]from tbc ilDirn' 

FN days when the life-blood was warm in my heart, 

I walked with humanity, filling my part ; 
I never pretended to mix or compete 
With those of society called the Elite ; 
But thanks to the progress of science, Cremation 
Has made quite a change in my relative station. 

I'm here, as it were, in my new urnal bed, 
A jewel come down from some ancestral head ; 
No ornament round me, on table or shelf. 
Compares in adornment, I'm told, to myself, 
While Flora, with roses and choice immortelle. 
Diffuses her fragrance around where I dwell. 

Although in the body my thoughts seldom rose 
Beyond the wild pleasures of earth or its woes, 
While here, I have thought — if a friend were to j)lace 
A flower or two in my urnal embrace, 
I might, Phcenix-like, from my ashes arise. 
Ascending in sweetest perfume to the skies. 



* This poem is purely a poetic sentiment and is not to be taken as the author's 
views on the subject of cremation. 



204 /iRusiriQS on tbe Ma^ 

How happy the thought ! To arise in the bloom 

Of daffodil, lily, or pink, from the tomb ! 

To be culled by some beautiful hand, it may be, 

To wear as a fragrant memento of me ; 

Or gathered, for aught I may know, to adorn 

The form of some loved one prepared for the urn. 

O, much better thus than consigned to a berth 
Four feet in the bosom of cold mother earth ! 
What though the green sward that encloses the tomb 
Be strewn o'er with flowers of rarest perfume ? 
'Tis cold comfort still for the sleeper to know 
That worms are his bosom companions below ! 

Then why should the spirit of mortals, so proud, 

Still cling to the coffin, the grave and the shroud ? 

Preferring to rest with a white slab above, 

Than be worn in the bosom of Friendship or Love ! 

As if it were easier to rot than to burn, — 

The dark grave a sweeter repose than the urn. 



busings on tbc "Ma^ 205 

^be flDone^ Iking 

A A 7" HAT is it, pray, to be enrolled 

Upon the list a " millionaire ? " 
To heap together piles of gold, 

And dine upon the richest fare ? 
Yes, that it is, but many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

What is't to be a millionaire ? 

To have some sycophant about. 
To fawn and flatter and to share 

The few stray crumbs you scatter out ? 
Yes, that it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

What is't to be a millionaire ? 

In j^olitics the weighty stone 
That holds a j)uppet in the chair. 

But sits the power behind the throne ? 
Yes, that it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

What is't to be a millionaire ? 
To occupy the foremost pew, 



206 busings on tbc ICla^g 

And never hear a sermon bear 
Particularly hard on you ? 
Yes, that it is, but many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

What is't to be a millionaire ? 

To clothe in robes magnificent, 
And underneath the purple wear 

A chafing garb of discontent ? 
Yes, that it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

What is't to be a millionaire ? 

Your life, however nobly spent. 
To hear an envious world declare 

You never earned an honest cent? 
Yes, that it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 

, What is't to be a millionaire ? 

To have the blessed means to give 
To toiling poverty and care 

And help humanity to live ? 
Yes, that it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 



/IRusitiGS on tbc IKIla^ 



207 



What is't to be a millionaire ? 

To rule mankind, opj^ress or bless ; 
To die regretted ; or leave an lieir 

A name debased by sordidness ; 
All this it is, and many a thing 
Besides, to be a Money King. 



^be Iking Hnb tbe Saint 



AN ENGLISH LEGEND 



IN the days when the Norsemen invaded 
the land. 
Defeating the Saxons and ruling 
awhile. 
King Alfred escaped with a few of his 
band, 
And hid in the wilds of a desolate 
isle. 

A story is told of the fugitive king 

While hid in this dreary abode of 
the sea, 




208 /iRusings on tbe Wa^ 

For the truth of which, though, I have nothing to 
bring. 
And only relate it as told unto me. 

The legend, then is, that, when three years or more. 
The monarch had lived in this narrow retreat, 

A pilgrim appeared at his majesty's door, 

And tremblingly asked for a morsel to eat. 

" Sit thee down, my poor friend," said the king with 
a sign ; 

'^ My board is but scanty as you may well see ; 
Yet this one tiny loaf and these few drops of wine, 

I'll cheerfully share, weary traveler, with thee." 

The pilgrim partook of the wine and the bread, 

Then arose, thanked his host and passed from 
the door; 

But lo ! when at noon-time the table was spread, 

The bread and the wine were as much as before ! 

Now, Alfred was puzzled, and could not divine 

From whence came the stranger, or whither he 
went; 



/IRusin^s on tbe Ma^ 209 

But he thought all day of the bread and the wine, 
And whether for evil or good it was meant. 

But at night, as he lay wide awake on his bed, 
Recalling and linking events of the day, 

A light of great beauty flit over his head, 

And an image stood by him in priestly array. 

Of such marvelous sheen was the face of his guest. 
The king looked amazed ! but he well under- 
stood 

By the book in his hand and the rood on his breast. 
That he came to him there as an angel of good. 

" Who art thou ? " said Alfred, essaying to speak : 
" And what, holy one, is thy message, I pray ? " 

" I am Cuthbert, the soldier of Jesus the meek, 
And he whom you fed at your table to-day." 

" Now I know," said the saint, " thou art worthy to 
reign. 
And henceforth thy battles shall also be mine ; 
Then be of good cheer, for the arm of the Dane 

Shall meet in a fortnight St. Cuthbert's and 
thine. 



210 /iRusings on tbe ma^ 

" Then arise, and go forth at the earliest morn ; 

And ere yonder moon be risen again, 
The hills that re-echo the blasts of thy horn. 

Shall be crowned with a legion of Albion's men. 

" And if thou wilt obey the commands of the Lord, 
And teach to thy sons and the nation his word, 

With thy freedom regained and thy kingdom restored, 
Thy j)i'ayers for thy people shall always be 
heard." 

Then Alfred was glad, and arose in the morn. 
And sounded the Albion war cry again, 

When lo ! as was told, at the sound of his horn, 
A column of lances appeared down the glen. 

And then, once again met the Saxon and Dane ; 

And loud were the shouts when the battle was 
o'er, 
For the signal of triumph that waved o'er the plain, 

Told Alfred was king of the island once more. 



/IRusings on tbe Ma^ 211 

%\nce to Una 

ON HER FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY 

! ENGTH'NING, like the shadows thrown 

By the fast-retreating moon, 
Is the shadow that is cast 
On the dial of the Past ; 
Like Aurora's early born 
Breaking into rosy morn ; 
Like the mellow eve of May 
Merging into Summer's day : — 

Like the early breaking bud, 
PeejDing from its leafy hood ; 
Softly as the snowflakes meet. 
Or the tread of angels' feet. 
Does thy young Spring's even tide 
Into Summer's morning glide. 

You will know her by her gay. 
Merry laugh and winsome way ; 
By the sparkle of her eye. 
And her cheek of ruddy dye ; 
By the sunny rays that seem 
All around her path to beam. 



212 /iRusmQS on tbc "Mas 

May she even come to thee 
Brighter than she's wont to be ; 
Bearmg to your open hand 
Treasures from her sunny land — 
Pleasure blossoms rare and sweet 
As ever lay at maiden's feet. 

These my earnest wishes are — 
More, indeed — my earnest prayer ; 
Yet, dear Ina, let me say, 
You will find along the way 
Many sin-inviting flowers 
Like the fruit in Eden's bowers. 

These at first will seem to you 
Boses of the richest hue : 
But their touch will leave behind 
Stains upon the heart and mind ; 
And their very breath will bear 
To the soul a poisoned air. 

May you very early learn 
Sweet from bitter to discern ; 
You will need no better guide 



/IBu6in99 on tbe Timas 213 

Than the Bible by your side ; 
What the world may say or do 
Dare not be the rule for you ; 
For a thousand pluck and eat 
Bitter fruit and call it sweet, 
As the man's perverted taste 
Makes the sick'ning weed a feast. 

What diversions you should choose, 

What the pleasures to refuse. 

Let your own heart be the test — 

What is right is always best. 

If the lamp of Truth divine 

Luminate* that heart of thine, 

Then the secret voice within. 

Ever vigilant of sin. 

Will help you choose and keep secure 

Only what is good and pure. 






214 busings on tbe HClaig 

1lnbia'0 dv^ for Breab 

T^HEEE'S a land in the West that the Lord has 
^ blest 

With a rich and abundant store, 
Where the fields bend down with a golden crown 

As they often have done before. 

There's a land in the West in whose mountainous 
breast 

Are the treasures of wealth untold ; 
Where the cattle that roam on their prairie home 

We can count by the thousand-fold. 

There's a land in the West where the Gospel test 

Is as broad as the Gospel plea ; 
Where " thy neighbor " is he that hath need of thee, 

Whether home or across the sea. 

There's a land in the East where the earth has ceased 
To nourish the child of her breast ; 

And a pitiful sigh and a pleading cry 
Comes over the sea to the West. 



/IBueincjs on tbc Ma^ 215 

It has heard the request ! The heart of the West 

Sends quick to the East a reply : 
" O, be ye of good cheer ! There's bread over here, 

For us and for you, a supply ! " 



mever in ^^IRovo" 

'' T LONG for my manhood," 
Says Youth with a sigh ; 
" This world is too busy 
For boys such as I." 

" Were I in my boyhood," 
Says wild Twenty-one, 

'' I know I'd do better 

Than I have yet done." 

"If I were but twenty," 

Says young Thirty-two, 

" The wide world before me, 
I know what I'd do." 



216 /IlbuslnQS on tbc TMaig 

'' If I were but thirty," 

Says strong Forty-five, 
"I'd care for the future 

In days when I thrive." 

" If I were but forty," 

Says Age, " I would try 
If I might not accomplish 

Some good ere I die." 

Ah ! boyhood and manhood, 

And Age-wrinkled brow, 
See a time that is golden. 

But never in i^ow ! 



J' 



A YEAR has gone since Harold came 

To brighten, cheer and bless our " hame "; 
Through cold and heat and storm severe, 
A Father's hand has kept our dear : 
We thank Him for this twelve-months' joy 
And ask Him still to keep our boy. 



yiBusiiifls on tbe llfllai^ 



217 




flDemorial 2)a? 



nPHE flowers have blossomed and decayed 

Above the grave 

Of the honored brave, 
Whose dust beneath these mounds is laid ; 

We've seen the year 
Come in its gorgeousness arrayed, 

And disajjpear — 
In Summer's rosary profuse 
And Autumn's variegated hues, — 

Since last we spread 

Above their bed 
Our floral offerings to the dead. 



218 /Iftusings on tbe Mais 

And now, emerged from Winter's gloom, 

Sunshine and showers 

Revive the flowers 
We planted last upon their tomb ; 

With their advent 
While first the air of their perfume 

Is redolent. 
We here again commemorate 
Their noble deeds, and consecrate 
Our honors to perpetuate 
The sacred trust inviolate, 

As thus we strew 

These flowers anew 
Above the nation's tried and true. 

These wreaths that now in beauty lie, 

To-morrow's sun 

Shall look upon 
And one by one will fade and die ; 

But ere their death. 
The Summer breezes passing by 
Will waft far up into the sky 

Their fragrant breath ; 
Fit emblem this, of those who fight 
And fall contending for the Right. 



/IftusinQS on tbe "Maig 219 

How sj^eak these flowers we have strewed ? 

Of Passion quelled ; 

Of Truth upheld ; 
Of Hate expelled and Trust renewed ; 

Of motives pure ; 
Of aspirations high and good 
That keep the ties of brotherhood 

In Love secure. 

Fit tributes to the dead ; 'tis thus 
They S23eak with silent voice to us ; 
And wisdom 'twere in all, to heed 
The lessons which the flowers read ; 

Thus Harmony, 

Fidelity, 
With blessed Charity combined, 
Shall link the heart, enlarge the mind, 

Till wheresoe'er 

The seas shall bear 
The boasted emblem of the Free, 
The language of the stars shall be — 
Peace, Love, and Faith, and Unity. 



220 flftusings on tbe 'M&^ 

Mbat nDa??e6 a Scot ? 

REPLY TO GERTRUDE STUART BAILLIE'S "A QUESTION OF IDENTITY." 

TF you should bring a wagon o'er 

From Scotland to Columbia's shore, 
You ask, and after many years, 
By new additions and repairs, 
It should be thoroughly renewed — 
New paint, new iron and new wood — 
Could it be called the same old shay 
You brought from Scotland all the way ? 
Of course, like you, I answer. Nay. 

In your corporeal frame, you say. 
The same stern law has had its way 
E'er since, long years ago, you came 
To make America your " hame ; " 
That not an atom now remains 
In bone or muscle, nerve or veins. 
That you from Caledonia brought — 
How then can you be called a Scot ? 

Excuse me, lady, will you not ? 
But one thing surely you've forgot ; 



/iRusittfls on tbe Wia^ 221 

Your wagon must be out and out 
American, without a doubt. 
But think a moment — tell me what 
It is that makes a Pict or Scot ; 
The brawny arm and hardy frame ? 
Do bone and muscle meet the claim ? 
If that be all, why then, 'tis true, 
No Scottish taint belongs to you ; 
For all of this, as you have said, 
Of course, has long ago been shed. 

But, shade of Wallace ! tell it not 
That this is all that makes a Scot. 
With change of dress shall it be said 
The spirit of the Scot is dead ? 
What heel of tyrant could not do, 
Nor torture of the stake subdue, 
What man nor devil could not still. 
Shall simple change of tissue kill ! 
Oh, breathe it not aloud, for fear 
The spirit of a Bruce be near ! 

Ah, no ! the change that has been wrought. 
As your philosophy has taught. 



222 /Iftusings on tbe Ma^ 

Has been in dress, and dress alone — 
The Scotchman's soul is still your own ; 
The other was but nothing more 
Than garments brought from Scotia's shore. 
The sheath may change, but I opine 
If thou wilt search that heart of thine, 
Thou'lt find therein, I trust, some spot 
Where dwells the spirit of the Scot. 



J' 



©n tbe Hbvent of a Xittle Boi? 

i^ONGEATULATIONS ! yes, I know 

^-^ I should have sent them long ago ; 

But though I'm late, it gives me joy 

To know it is a little boy. 

And I am told, dear Mrs. Tyson, 

Never was there such a nice one. 

And now, with love from all to you, 

To proud papa and aunty too, 

I pray that God may keep the boy, 

And some day, to his parents' joy. 

Will use him in His own employ. 



/ftusitifls on tbc mas 223 

a Xanient 

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG MAN, A TEACHER. 

T ' VE stood beside the bed of him 

" Whose face was furrowed o'er with years," 
And watched the flame of life grow dim, 
Amid a household's falling tears ; 

And when the fluttering spark had fled, 
I looked upon the aged dead. 
And in my inward soul I said : 
*' When thus with age my 230wers fail, 

I shall not mourn, methinks, the day, 
When Death shall droj^ his sable veil 
And close the scene of life for aye." 

I've seen one hour a rosy pet 

Smile sweetly on its mother's breast, 
Which, ere another sun had set. 

Was laid in death's embrace to rest ; 
And when the cherub spirit fled 
I stood beside the sleeper's bed, 
And, 'mid my scalding tears, I said : 
" 'Tis well with thee! God knows, my child. 
What paths thy little feet would tread. 



224 /lftu6inG6 on the iKaa^ 

When pleasure lured and vice beguiled, 
And cares fell heavy on thy head." 

But when I see the sentence fall 

On one of early manhood's roll, 
So full of promise to us all, 

In intellect, and heart, and soul, — 
I can but look upon the clay, — 
Consigned to mother earth away, 
And bow the weeping head, and say : 
" I cannot now Thy ways discern ; 

The future may the mist dispel ; 
Enough, that in the Book I learn 

The Father 'doeth all things well.' " 

And he beside whose early tomb, 

I lately stood, a weeping friend. 
Was truly such a one in whom 

The mental and the moral blend ; 
At every draught unsatisfied. 
He sat insatiable beside 
The wells of truth until he died. 
Until he died ! What then ? Think you 
The mind's researches end with death, 



/iRushiQs on tbe llOa^ 225 

And that the knowledge gained below 
Will pass away as does our breath ? 

Oh, no ! the soul shall find in store 

Some things to learn as well as love ; 
That death is but an entrance door 
Into a higher school above ! 

And He who taught by Galilee 
Good will to men and charity, 
Our Higher Teacher there shall be ; 
AVe who are left but wait the call 

That disenthralls the fettered soul, 

And when it comes, God grant that all 

Be found upon the Master's Roll ! 



^ 



H ^rutb Ibalf ^olb 

" DEWARE of them who never laugh. 
Is truth well told but only half; 
Tlie other half let me declare : 
Of them who never weep, beware. 



226 /IftusinQS on the Wai^ 

^be Bacbelor'6 Broften IDow 

T^HE shades of night were falling fast 

As through a Schuylkill village passed 
A modern knight of princely mien, 
Who bore upon his brow serene 

Some strange resolve, 'twas plainly seen. 

His manly form arrayed in state, 
From tip to toe immaculate, 
Awakened strange surmise and dread. 
That he, our honored chief and head, 
Did seriously intend to wed. 

Our brow was sad — our eye beneath 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath ! 
I sought him with indignant brow, 
And read to him our fearful vow ! 

He only answered, " Too late now ! " 

'' Too late ? " said I : " O, wretched man, 
Keturn to freedom while you can ! 
Return, and rest thy weary feet 
Within the Bachelor's safe retreat! " 
He only said, " To wed is sweet." 



/IRusinfls on tbc limais 227 

" Beware ! " I said, with hissing breath ; 
'^ Return and live — refusal's death ! " 
A tear stood in his dark blue eye, 
But still he answered with a sigh, 

" If one must be, then let me — die ! " 

At this his tears began to flow ; 
His cheeks became as white as snow ; 
With quivering lip and bended knee 
He begged the body pityingly 
To mitigate the stern decree. 

I looked upon his blanched cheek, 
And for a moment could not speak ; 
Then sorroAV for his present state, 
And pity for his future fate 

Assuaged my anger and my hate. 

" Illustrious Fraud," said I, " arise ! — 
Get up and wipe your weej^ing eyes ; 
Thou'rt Hymen's now, but let me tell. 
Thou' It ex2:)iate thy crime full well 

Before the summer blossoms swell." 



228 /IRu0ing6 on tbe Wi^^ 

Zbc IRum Cruea&e* 

/^ THIS woman's agitation. 
^"^^ Is a bone of aggravation 

To the trafficker in Rnm ! 
And there's every indication 
That the ]3resent agitation 

Is a most portentous hum 
Of a mighty tribulation 

In a terror yet to come. 

Go, in imagination, 
To the local habitation 

Of the trafficker in Rum ! 
See, the ladies' deputation, 
Of the highest rank and station, 

To the premises they come ! 
'Tis a painful visitation, 

Though, undoubtedly, to some. 

Yet, there is no hesitation 
In the room of defamation 

Of the trafficker in Rum ; 



* The Woman's Rum Crusade, in some of the Western States, especially in Ohio, 
some years ago, will be recalled by this poem. 



/IRusin^s on tbc Ma^ 229 

But a word of explanation, 
And a brief interrogation, 

And the praying is begun, 
To the utter consternation 

Of the trafficker in Rum ! 

All in vain, expostulation ! 
All in vain, denunciation, 

From the trafficker in Kum ! 
For this woman's dejDutation, 
In this work of reformation, 

I believe, are deaf and dumb 
To all the profanation. 
And the base insinuation. 

Of the trafficker in Rum. 

" Hold ! I pray ! a brief cessation 
For a reconciliation," 

Says the trafficker in Rum ; 
" Not," says the deputation. 
With a firm determination, 

" Till the enemy succumb. 
Shall we quit your habitation. 

Mister trafficker in Rum ! " 



230 busings on tbe "Mn^ 

Now, it needs not divination, 
To discern the situation 

Of the trafficker in Rum, 
For did woman's combination 
Ever fail of consummation ? 

Nay, all history is mum ! 
Then, it bodes annihilation 

To the trafficker in Rum ! 



H Birtb&ai? Mieb 

\ A7HAT the little bud is 

To the full-blown flower 
What the tiny rain drop. 

To the summer's shower ; 
What the simple smile is 

To the peal of laughter, — 
May the joys of this day 

Be to those hereafter. 



/lRu6in06 on tbe Mais 231 

Zo Xi33ie 

A N autograph, Lizzie, 
^^ Is simple and easy, 

I haven't the heart to refuse it. 
Though it doesn't appear 
To my mind very clear. 

Just how you can manage to use it. 

And now let me write it 
As the heart shall indite it : 

Wherever your steps may incline, 
May the bounty of wealth 
And the blessing of health, 

And the grace of the Master be thine. , 



®n a Sbort acquaintance 

T F first impressions last for aye, 

I'll look upon thee as a brother ; 
If first impressions wear away, 

We only then mistook each other. 



232 /Iftu6m06 on tbc Mas 

H Dalenttne 

/^ SHE is wondrous, wondrous fair, 
^^ My Valentine ! 
Her eyes, a deep sky-blue ; her hair 
Just tinged enough with gold to snare 

A heart like mine. 

My Valentine. 

I cannot live except for thee, 

My Valentine ; 
The sun will rise no more for me 
When once it rises not in thee. 

My ray divine. 

My Valentine ! 



H X06t 2)a? 

"TTIS said no loss do we sustain 

But has its compensating gain ; 
It is not true ; there is no way 
To make amends for one lost day. 



/Hbusinfls on tbe llHas 233 

3frct ^o^flDorrow 

TF Fortune for a day or two 

Should hide her sunny face from view, 

Or even some reverses send, 
Pray what's the use of sitting down, 
And wdth a woful face and frowai 

Bewailing what you cannot mend ? 

Be up and doing ! Let to-morrow 
Be the day of fret and sorrow — 

Favoring currents will not wait ; 
To-day dame Fortune may be nigh 
Your door again, and pass you by. 

While you sit moaning at the gate. 



^ 



lEpitapb— 3obn 2). IKIlilliame 

I T is not sleej) ; it is not death — 

A simple change of state, dear John, 
The vital spark, the living breath — 

Still lives and thinks, and studies on. 



234 busings on tbe "M^l^q 

JSurne 

Q WEET Bard of Ayr, the one who sung 

For all the world in Scottish tongue, 
Who music heard or beauty saw 
In Nature's every form and law ; 
There grew on heather wild nor lea 
A flower too small for thee to see. 
The jeweled canopy o'erhead, 
The verdant carpet 'neath it spread. 
With field, and wood, and bird, and brook. 
Were all to thee an open book. 
But though thy Muse encompassed these 
With such delightful skill and ease. 
She sang for men her sweetest parts 
Whene'er she sang of human hearts. 
These homely lays so true, so free. 
Were first to wake the Muse in me ; 
And here I give thee, bard of fame, 
A humble tribute to thy name ; 
A name by every heart held dear 
That ever loved or shed a tear. 



/Ilbusinfls on tbe "Mn^Q 235 

Cbara&c 

I LIVE in the vessel, 

Likewise in the wave : 
I'm dead in the coffin, 

But live in the grave. 
I'm part of all virtue. 

Yet care not for truth. 
And love all that is venal 

In age or in youth ; 
Though I rove with the vicious 

I care not for pleasure, 
And sing with the jovial 

Without tune or measure : 
I always go single 

Without any trouble, 
And yet in your Avallet 

I'd rather be double. 



Iprcfer Zo Be IRigbt 

pREFERtoberight 

Though the least in the throng, 
Than to shine as a light 

On the side that is wrong. 



236 busings on tbe "Mai? 

flnvocation ! 

jy yi Y FATHEK : Thou hast been to me 

Much more than kind in all these vears • 
From days of infancy until now 

Thy loving hand in tenderness appears. 
When almost spent within its sheath, 

With uncertain end, 
Thou didst upon the ember breathe 

And new life send ; 
And when at last there came 

The strength of years to me, 
I found that strength to be 

But feebleness except in Thee. 
With mine infirmity. 

And even with my sin. 
Thou hast borne as patiently 

As if it had not been. 
Shall I, therefore, 

Kecipient free 
Of blessings o'er and o'er, 

Not testify of Thee ? 
Nay, for Thou has led 

By ways I knew not of ; 



^U5lnc}5 on tbe llGla^ 237 

I knew not then the end ; 

I only knew the hand that led 

Was guided by a Father's love. 
And now, if Thou hast given nie 
To cast a wayside seed for Thee, 
Wilt Thou not water it, also. 
With heavenly dew^ that it may grow ? 




